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BY THE SAME AUTHOR 


The Silent Workman. A Story. i6mo, cloth, 75 
The Gallery of a Random Collector. i6mo, 

cloth ’ . . $i 25 

The Speculator. A Portrait of a Contemporary 

American. i6mo, cloth . . , r .75 

The Adventures of Three Worthies. {In Press.) 


G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS, New York and London 


THE SPECULATOR 



CLINTON ROSS 

AUTHOR OF “the GALLERY OF A RANDOM COLLECTOR," 


“ THE SILENT WORKMAN," ETC., ETC. 



APR 4 iRy:' 


G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 

NEW YORK LONDOSf 

27 West Twenty-third St. 27 King William St., Strand 

3; be ^initberbocher ^ress 
1891 
tyo 



COPYRIGHT, 1891 
BY 

CLINTON ROSS 


Ubc Iftnfcfterbocfter IRcw Jgorft 

Electrotyped, Printed, and Bound by 
G. P. Putnam’s Sons 


To C. A. W. 


I will not sail with the stream of 
custom, nor, like some others, sup- 
plicate the gentle reader to pardon, or 
conceal the faults which thou may’st spy- 
in this production. Thou art neither 
its father nor kinsman ; hast thy own 
soul in thy own body ; and a will as free 
as the finest ; and art in thy own house 
of which I hold thee as absolute master 
as the king of his revenue ; and thou 
knowest the common saying, ‘ Under 
my cloak the king is a joke.’ These 
considerations free and exempt thee 
from all manner of restraint and obliga- 
tion ; so thou may’st fully, and frankly 
declare thy opinion of this history.” — 

The History and Adventures of 
the Renoxvned Don Quixote." in 
the English rendering of 
which is prefixed by some account 
of the author's life., by T. Smollety. 
M.D. 


iii 



THE SPECULATOR. 


“The constant application of keen intellects, 
spurred by sharp desire, evolves new combina- 
tions * * * devises new methods and con- 

trivances, apt for a bold and skilful hand.” — 
James Bryce, in “ The American Common- 
wealth,” Part VI., Chapter C. 


I ^ 





THE SPECULATOR. 


I. 

The repeated failures of a man who 
appears to be more than capable, even 
exceptionally clever, are counted among 
the strangest of common events. When 
he is young, the world seems the com- 
modity for which he may barter his 
intelligence ; but whether, because of 
the lack of the chance — which may di- 
rect the greatest capacities — or through 
the need of adaptation, he remains 
where he has begun. If he have the 
rare spirit of cheerfulness, he may rise 
superior ; or he may be soured — a 
crabbed decryer of Fate. He or his 


I 


2 


THE SPECULATOR. 


friends advance the theory that this 
caged lion, finding no endeavor in the 
cage, must have his find when he shall 
have burst the bars of flesh, and nar- 
rowed circumstance. Can energy and 
capacity (if this be. capacity) come to 
nought because chance be lacking ? — 
because of some inner, unperceived 
flaw ? inadaptability to the circumstance 
of the den ? Certain natures then are 
prone to the relief of the church. 
They must believe that somewhere a 
nature finds its completion. For failure 
leaves the sorest hurt, and they cry out 
upon it ! 

But constant failure becomes some- 
times of the nature of habit, and per- 
haps chastens. The more pitiful is 
the failure after comparative success ; 
when the failed is left, like Robinson 
Cruso, on a barren shore, where appears 
naught at all. 

The first march had been played on 
Tuesday evening, Nov. 19, 1889, at 
Samuel Chester’s, and there came the 
lull before the dance, when the hum of 


THE SPECULATOR. 


3 


voices fills the crowding rooms. The 
affair may be remembered well by those 
who accounted it notable. The first 
great ball of last year’s season, it gath- 
ered many distinguished persons. We 
may say that the day has passed in 
America for the mere possession of 
money to gain social success. But 
Chester, a year since, was, more than a 
moneyed person, an evident power. 
His wife was the possessor of remarka- 
ble tact and social discernment. It 
was repeated (people declared it had 
been heard in London) that the man’s 
daughter had graceful beauty, an ad- 
mirable manner, and taste. 

A smiling woman whispered to her 
escort : 

“Do you know these are yet very 
new people ?’’ 

“But they have had the sanction of 
London ? ” 

She hastened to explain : “ Oh, that 
is n’t it, altogether. Two years even 
make their differences ; and now you 
must know we dilute our Anglomania ; 


4 


THE SPECULATOR. 


we take it in little sugar pills, instead of 
allopathic doses.” 

The first notes of the quadrille broke 
in on the voices. 

It ’s such a fetching house,” whis- 
pered a pretty girl. 

Of course, when you are here,” he 
declared. 

She laughed over his poor effort. 

“ Oh, I know it was weak,” he ac- 
knowledged ; ‘‘ still you might believe 
me.” 

“Why of course I believe you,” said 
she. “ But do be earnest for a second. 
Don’t you think Mr. Chester an incon- 
gruous figure ? ” 

“ I wish I knew what was in his head.” 

“Why?” 

“ I should know then whether to buy 
or sell Wyoming-Pacific.” 

“ I bought some,” said she. 

“ Oh, you did ! You are a gambler.” 

“ I thought I might make a bonnet 
or a gown out of the excitement.” 

“You may lose.” 

“ Do you think so ? ” said she. 


THE SPECULATOR. 


5 


Then she asked more seriously ; 
“ Agree with me : Is n’t that an out- 
rageous gown Flossie Jones-Smith has 
on ?” 

“ Is it ? Now she 's pretty.” 

“ Do you think so ? ” she demanded 
with a rising inflection. Lest the dis- 
approval be too evident, she added : 
“Yes, she is pretty.” 

The music stopped, and the buzzing 
of detached talk alone was audible. The 
man pulled the door far back before a 
late-comer. 

“ Eh ? Come into the smoking-room,” 
said Van Brule. Somewhat flushed and 
impatient, he cried out : “ Hang qua- 
drilles, anyway ! Have you noticed the 
old man ? ” 

“ I should say I did,” said the other. 
“ To-morrow all the papers will deal out 
this occasion. Then we ’ll turn a page ; 
and there ’ll be Wyoming-Pacific.” 

“ After that — he must be careworn, 
whatever he may seem.” 

As they chatted on the stairs the other 
paused, a finger indicating, with a little 


6 


THE SPECULATOR. 


wave, a tall young lady. “ What a fine 
creature she is ! ” 

“Yes, to be sure, I suppose we must 
consider Jarvis a lucky dog.” 

“ But who ’s the other ? ” 

“ Oh, that man Robson ! Does n’t 
it strike you ” 

“ Pardon me,” interrupted one, nod- 
ding to the two nervously, or effusively, 
as you interpreted his manner, while 
they made way. 

When he had passed Van Brule whis- 
pered : “ He ’s a bit agitated, I fancy. 

Do you believe it ’s the deal, or the 
evening coat ? ” 

“ A little of both. But do look at the 
daughter ! ” 

“ I have n’t time. I have this dance.” 
On the lower step he whispered over 
his shoulder : “ I declare, she does 

look well. If I were only attractive 
myself ! ” 

She was near the foot of the great 
stairway at this moment. To look at 
her is to understand the polite successes 
of the Chesters. Belinda Chester has 


THE SPECULATOR. 


7 


a full, fair face, over which, of an even- 
ing, her eyes seem to glow with a dull, 
bluish fire. Her brown hair ordinarily 
is brushed back from her forehead in a 
manner peculiarly her own ; for her 
beauty in some manner makes her su- 
perior to modes. She has in herself 
the distinction which, in the vernacu- 
lar of women, is style. Her head, which 
is neither large nor small, is set well on 
her shoulders. A figure, that later may 
be inclined to stoutness, supports this 
admirable and charming head, — the 
flaming, deep-blue eyes. Possibly it 
was her own good taste, combined with 
that of the modiste^ that left her gown 
simplicity itself. At twenty-three an 
extraordinarily beautiful woman, she has 
the nice sense that suffers a gown to 
gain notice from the wearer — not the 
wearer from the gown, — the resource of 
plain women. 

The two men at this moment near 
Belinda Chester are rather well known 
in the town. The one — stout, rosy, 
appearing both a man of fashion and of 


8 


THE SPECULATOR. 


affairs — was John Marfield Jarvis, who 
is much of a figure on this stage where 
wealth counts significantly. 

I The newspapers, dilating on the very 
rich — and on the editorial page decry- 
ing luxury for the value of the sentiment 
with the labor vote, — show how greatly 
we are given to ostentation. During 
fifteen years the love of display has 
increased out of proportion with any 
other social phenomenon. While there 
may be social sets and social sets, that 
is greatest where riches are paramount. 
Modern achievements in finance are 
indeed the most noteworthy among all 
1 sorts and conditions of men. A plain 
individual of the City in London, or 
Wall Street, New York, may control 
realms as great as those Alexander 
conquered ; because, simply, he may be 
a successful promoter, or may have out 
I millions in preferred and voting stocks. 
Now, Jarvis is a name long identified 
in America with riches. For almost 
a hundred years the family have con- 
trolled properties that have increased 


THE SPECULATOR. 


9 


as marvellously as the development of 
the new continent. The position gained 
through this power may be seen in John 
Jarvis’ aunt, Mrs. Bennington Jarvis, 
who can make or unmake an aspiring 
person’s hope. A tall, rather stout wo- 
man, her black eyes seemingly rendered 
blacker by the white hair, she is to be 
wooed obsequiously if you may wish a 
setting for your riches. Though she 
may be seventy, the face, framed by the 
white hair, is unwrinkled. 

So, beyond any desert of his own, 
John Jarvis is a personage. He is said 
to be a common-sense, commonplace sort 
of fellow, who will look carefully after his 
investments. Intellectually, he may be 
rather heavy, and is prone to take the di- 
rect path to an end. Not likely to partic- 
ularly distinguish the position in which 
he was born, he certainly will not lose it 
recklessly. A thoroughly healthy animal 
now, later he may be portly, or may 
have gout. At present he is tall, blond, 
strong-muscled, carefully trained, and 
well kept. 


10 


THE SPECULATOR. 


The other at Belinda Chester's side 
was John Jarvis’ antithesis. He was 
tall, sallow, and wiry, with a thin, acutely 
clever face. At forty, Richard Robson 
appears to be a man turning the mile- 
post ; intelligent, practical, shrewd in 
affairs ; the possessor, if of few friends, 
of the respect produced by immoderate 
success. In his way, he is now as much 
a figure as Samuel Chester himself last 
year. They say that not long since he 
was a clerk. Now he has the eyes of the 
country on his movements. He says 
himself that he springs from the people, 
and that in the Western mixture his 
mother was a Spaniard and his father 
an Irishman. Strangely no one ques- 
tions his past, nor his future. He has 
the gift of adaptation ; and in this 
American life he stands for the one who 
may reach high, or fall, like Milton’s 
Satan, into fathomless abyss. 

The two men about Miss Chester de- 
spised each other. Jarvis wondered at 
Robson — he thought him a rather detest- 
able upstart ; and Robson, envying the 


THE SPECULATOR. 


11 


unquestioned position and assured finan- 
cial strength, yet felt a certain fine con- 
tempt, as if he knew that in a lifetime 
he should bring about the results of the 
American century of Jarvis’. More than 
this, the two knew that they stood ahead 
in the race for favor, and they loathed 
each other the more for the reason. 

Neither could flatter himself. If 
Jarvis led in worldly advantages, and 
possibly in others, who may account for 
woman’s fancy ? Neither Robson nor 
Jarvis. Robson probably had spoken. 
Jarvis thought he never had declared 
his own feeling in look or by gesture. 

“ You are going to Mrs. Blanfield’s, 
Saturday ? ” Jarvis was asking. 

“ You have forgotten the wedding,” 
said Belinda. 

“ The brides seem to have appropri- 
ated this November instead of October,” 
said Robson. 

“ Weddings, — let me see.” She lifted 
a hand, counting the slender, gloved 
fingers. One, — two, — three, — four, — 
five ” 


1 


12 THE SPECULATOR. 

“ Ah, you have only begun ! " 

“ Yes, only begun. I have counted 
thirteen, have n’t I ? ” 

A thirteen club of brides. They give 
a new version of a Thirteen Club. Do you 
suppose they will share the club’s luck ? ” 
You put my weddings apart into a 
collection of thirteen, as if they were 
the only events.” 

“ I certainly do,” he declared. 

“You know a remark like that always 
pleases one,” said the young lady, with 
a little superior smile. 

Jarvis sat by nervously, with an ill- 
disguised dislike of the t^lk. He could 
not turn the phrases of the dancing- 
room, when he was interested in a wo- 
man ; certainly he was not interested 
often — only once before ; and once may 
be counted reasonably rare of a man 
turned thirty. Now this light, intelli- 
gent fellow left him clumsy. With some 
pretext he excused himself. 

Still people talked. “ Who could be- 
lieve they came from the bottom ? ” 
said a woman to an escort. 


THE SPECULATOR. 


13 


“ Not exactly from the bottom. They 
were quiet, respectable people before 
they came here from some little up- 
country town. Then he made his money. 
The mother’s tact and the girl’s pretti- 
ness did the rest, I suppose.” 

“ A girl’s prettiness does a great deal,” 
she assented. “ My husband says Ches- 
ter is reckless in his operations. Do 
you think he can succeed in Wyoming- 
Pacific ? ” 

“ He is masterful almost. Who 
knows ? ” 

The chatter of two young girls reached 
shrilly through the room. One caught 
snatches of many topics : scandal, our 
neighbors, politics, a woman’s beauty, 
or her indiscretions. 

Our distinguished French visitor of 
last year, M. Comte De Champs, was at 
Chester’s that night, and a little apart 
he explained that money is the fabric of 
the American society, and American 
society takes character from the fabric 
(I use M. De Champs’ noun) ; while in 
France the fabric, if it be money, is 


14 


THE SPECULATOR. 


hidden rather more by the conventions, 
— the polite manner. 

At this, Monsieur’s host. General 
Dangerfield, smiled ; as you know, the 
General was recently our representative 
in France. The General surveyed the 
room in his manner, which is self- 
poised, rather assertative, and his 
words had a didactic cast, like his 
thought, while he declared that matters 
in America were very like those in 
France. But America is still in its be- 
ginning. 

“ Your Gauls, Monsieur, began with 
the warrior. Well, our first American 
was the woodchopper, whom we deified. 
Now you see the woodchopper changed 
to the present financier, who inherits 
the ancestral shrewdness and acquisi- 
tiveness. Wealth is the plainest of our 
facts ; and for the baron we have men 
made rich through shrewdness or, willy, 
nilly, by the development of a new 
land.” 

The General pointed out distin- 
guished lawyers, politicians, bankers, 


THE SPECULATOR. IS 

great tradesmen, a successful editor, an 
artist whose portraits are the fashion. 

“ De Tocqueville understood ypu," 
said Monsieur De Champs. 

“ Oh, yes, years ago. Another, an 
Englishman, James Bryce, has written 
us up lately with fine understanding.” 

“Ah, ze women,” said Monsieur, 
“so much distinction, d'esprit ^ — what 
you call it ? ” 

And the waltz rose and fell through 
the spaces of Samuel Chester’s house. 


II. 

You may waltz with lagging limbs, 
the heart as sad as the singing Ophelia. 
Or, when in all politeness woe only is 
seemly, you may feel like skipping. But 
Belinda Chester’s eyes were as inscruta- 
ble as a fair young woman’s should be. 

“ I may have my minute with you 
now ? ” ventured her escort. 

“If you appreciate that little time,” 
she said, recalling herself. “ Your tone 
calls for conceit in me, does n’t it ? ” 

“ You have enough reasons for con- 


16 


THE SPECULATOR. 


ceit, certainly. But you are too 
sensible.” 

‘‘You talk well, I have thought 
always.” 

“ Thank you for that. My tongue is 
clumsy.” 

“ Really, you will have to prove that. 
You know I never can believe with the 
evidence of hearing.” 

“ You are very good to overlook my 
mood.” 

“ Perhaps I am simply flattering.” 

“ Oh, the declaration proves you are 
not.” 

“ But about the waltz, Mr. Robson ; I 
am tired out.” 

“ I am sure I can’t believe you.” 

“ Oh, don’t turn my weapon against 
me. But I am tired, and probably show 
it. If you will let me, we will walk out 
the dance.” 

He declared that a talk would be the 
greatest privilege, and she said, “Do 
regard it in that way ! ” 

I suppose I need not go further in 
this very ordinary conversation. Most 


THE SPECULATOR. 


17 


people can fill out the lines, while 
they walked from the dancing-room 
to the tiled way between the palms 
of the conservatory, where a fountain 
splashed. A rather clever person in 
his experience with women, this young 
lady turned away all Robson’s weap- 
ons, and left him piqued and the more 
eager. He even knew in his inmost 
heart that she disliked him, and he 
had resolved to change the feeling, 
with small promise of success. To-night 
he saw that certainly he was far out of 
her thoughts, and he pondered : Does 
she know where Samuel Chester stands 
to-night ? ” At any rate her remarks 
had the conventional glitter, and he 
was dissatisfied when she said : “ Have 
n’t we talked folly enough ? You know 
every thing must end when one is a 
hostess. You will take me, please, to 
the dancing-room.” And he said some- 
thing which sounded foolishly in the 
recollection. 

Inasmuch as the manager may look 
behind the veneer and tinsel to the 


18 


THE SPECULATOR. 


mechanism of his puppets, I may say 
that Belinda was thinking of the inex- 
pressive man who had won for her 
money and cultivation, as foils to intel- 
ligence and beauty. “ Find Mr. Ches- 
ter," she managed to say ; but the 
servant returned with ‘‘I’m sorry, miss ; 
he called a cab, and went out some- 
where." Because of her nervousness 
she felt dizzy ; and she asked the ser- 
vant, she thought, for some water. But 
the man had gone, and somebody else 
brought the glass. “ Oh, I beg your 
pardon," she said ; “ it is so good of 
you, Mr. Jarvis. I think it is the heat 
of the room. Yes, I will let you take 
me where it is cooler, if you please." 
And she added : “ I want to ask you a 
question." 

Yet the question did not follow 
easily ; and, instead, she asked : “ What 
did you think of the little Blanfields in 
the play the other evening ? " 

“ Capital, I am sure. Bright young- 
sters." But he added : “ That was not 
the question you intended ? " 


THE SPECULATOR. 


19 


“ No, that was not the question, — 
your observation is right. I want to 
ask you one thing. People say that my 
father is in a risky undertaking.” 

“ They say that ; but they add, * He 
always succeeds.’ ” 

“ Ah, yes, I know. But do you think 
he may fail ? ” 

“ I think it a grave and important 
move. But, — I believe what people say 
of him. He can’t fail.” 

‘‘Forgive me,” said Belinda, “for 
introducing business of which I know 
nothing ; I suppose that is evident 
enough. You see I am anxious. One 
does n’t like to say ‘ I ’m anxious,’ 
though, to everybody.” 

“ I think you can to me,” said Jarvis. 

“ Oh, I know I can trust you,” she said. 

He was inclined to distrust the sense 
of her words, because simply he cared 
for her opinion. 

“ Tell me about your new horses. 
Your pretty cousin was speaking of a 
jumper which might make the record 
this year.” 


20 


THE SPECULATOR. 


Belinda was thinking : “ If I could be 
sure that he did not care for Mrs. Bron- 
son.” She said this as a defence against 
herself. She knew that he cared for 
her ; and he never had made a love 
speech. He is sincere,” she thought. 
“ That is a great deal — a great deal ! ” 

The music stopped again, while the 
dancers crowded into the cooler spaces. 
Jarvis and Belinda all at once were sur- 
rounded. Mrs. Featherglow pointed 
her fan : 

‘ ‘ What a really fine affair ; her beauty 
and his position.” 

“You acknowledge her beauty?” 
questioned Robson. 

“ How may I deny the fact ? Every 
place I may be, I see the two. Now 
you know he is not frivolous, like most 
of us. He is a serious person, is n’t he ? ” 

“ They say he will marry the widow, 
Mrs. Bronson,” said Robson. 

Mrs. Featherglow raised her lor- 
gnette. “ That would be singularly 
appropriate, indeed. But I am inclined 
to think that the beauty will have him.” 


THE SPECULATOR. 21 

For a clever man, Robson felt much 
chagrined. Why should he be ? He 
felt that this splendid house, even her 
beauty, were parts of a phantasy. Had 
not Wyoming-Pacific turned against 
Chester? Would not the world know 
it all to-morrow ? 

“I could tell you something,” he 
began. 

“ Oh, do tell me ! ” cried Mrs. Feather- 
glow. 

“ I forgot. It was nothing.” 

“ Nothing ! ” 

“ Nothing at alT tp-night ; but every 
thing to-morrow.” 

To him, the only significant fact is 
riches. For this end should one toil, 
and lie ; this is happiness, a commodity. 
Long since he has sacrificed body and 
soul to ambition. Before his supposed 
information, the love (for he even had 
thought it love) for Belinda Chester was 
mastered by discretion. At first he had 
wanted her because she might help his 
ambition. Now he doubted if she were 
so desirable as success. Yet her posi- 


22 


THE SPECULATOR. 


tion was sure, despite the failure of her 
father. In that failure, of which he now 
had no doubt, he saw his own star 
ascendant. He was on the other side ; 
and he felt an exultant thrill. I have 
made a fool of myself over women so 
many times. Shall I never learn dis- 
cretion?” he muttered, recalling the 
scene of the conservatory. 

Their tHe-a-tHe is at an end,” he 
said. 

Whose ? ” queried Mrs. Featherglow. 
He had not known that he had spoken 
aloud. Possibly he started a little as he 
told the truth : “ Miss Chester's and 
Jack Jarvis.” 

“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Featherglow, 
turning her head. “ The younger Du- 
rand is claiming her.” 

And Jarvis was saying : “ I am going 
to say good-night before I spoil the im- 
pression of this talk.” 

He probably never in his life had 
made such a speech earnestly. Belinda’s 
hand pressed his slightly. 

“ I have enjoyed it myself,” she said. 


THE SPECULATOR. 


23 


Had he fancied that slight pressure ? 
Nor could he be sure that hopeful fancy 
did not distort facts. 

For sometimes facts will get askew 
when certain eyes, an inflection of a 
voice, leave the brain topsy-turvy. 
When again the brain is in nice order, 
its owner may cry out “ Folly ! 
Jacques in “As You Like It ” had rec- 
ollection of facts once askew when he 
sang with sad blitheness : 

“ Most friendship is feigning ; most 
loving, mere folly.” 

While the sadly merry fellows in 
Arden worded the refrain, I am inclined 
to the belief that Jacques gave these 
lines a peculiar tone, as if these indeed 
were his very own. 


III. 

But even if this were foolish, he 
would let hopeful fancy have its way to- 
night. Not a fanciful person certainly, 
sentiment on this occasion was mightier 
than common-sense. Too early for his 


24 


THE SPECULATOR. 


carriage, he decided he did not want to 
go home then ; and he turned into the 
club about the corner from the Chesters’. 
With hand on the knob, he noticed that 
the air was fraught with the rankness of 
salt marshes ; and it was raining. 

This was not a club he frequented 
often. It is given up to people intrinsi- 
cally prominent, rather than through 
family or mere wealth. Here you may 
find the notable politicians, the editors, 
bankers, and greater celebrities. 

In a deserted corner of the caf^ this 
night the conventional nature leaped 
beyond its apparent limitations, and 
touched on the lover’s or the poet’s 
madness. This night the calmly sensi- 
ble fellow had lost his self-poise. The 
morrow he would wonder, and likely 
despise himself. For the mood must 
pass ; to few is it granted to retain the 
glimpse of possibilities till it be a view 
of finer matters than those in the ordi- 
nary of life. 

From this pleasant revery he was 
called by a voice : “What are you doing 


THE SPECULATOR. 


25 


moping by yourself, old man?” Four 
were in the chairs about him ; and one 
was Robson. Somebody hummed a 
little air. They discussed the evening 
at Chester’s, and said that Chester was 
a wonderful person indeed to give a 
ball in which lavish display seemed to 
have reached its limit, while at the same 
time the market was kept guessing. 
Then Robson leaned forward, — possi- 
bly he had been drinking : “ I might as 
well tell you that he has reached the 
end.” “ Impossible ! ” they said. ‘‘ Oh, 
I know,” Robson went on. “At twelve 
to-morrow, I tell you, Chester & Co. 
will close their doors.” One listener 
blanched : “ If it should be so ! ” “ Oh, 
I know,” said Robson. 

Then they said he could n’t fail ; 
while one dilated on the misery which 
the morrow would bring to the mother 
and the girl. “ A beautiful woman need 
never be troubled,” said Robson. 

Jarvis said 'nothing at all. 

And they wandered to horses ; thence 
to the footlights, and wines ; back to 


26 


THE SPECULATOR. 


Chester. “ I don’t believe a word of it,” 
cried one ! The talk flagged. Are 
you going to sit here all night, Jarvis ?” 
Their steps were in the corridor. 

Jarvis arose. He wanted to call Rob- 
son back. Again he took his seat. The 
man was gone. He longed to take him 
by the shoulders, to throttle him, “ as if 
we were boys again,” to whip him. A 
waiter cleared the table. “ Some whis- 
key,” said Jarvis. 

An old man entered. “ Well, are n’t 
you rather late ? ” 

Jarvis looked up. 

Why, Mr. Chester,” he said. 

“ Of course, I am around rather late 
myself. But I had something on my 
mind, and I thought I would try a 
cigar over here. Queer, a cigar never 
makes me nervous before going to 
bed.” 

If disaster were before Samuel Ches- 
ter, he showed little of it at that moment. 
Most people in New York still must re- 
member him well, — though a star once 
set leaves no flicker among men : his 


THE SPECULATOR. 


27 


round front ; and red, shrewd, not un- 
kindly face ; the single diamond of the 
plain shirt front ; the white cravat a 
little awry ; the frock-coat — he had 
changed the evening coat — always un- 
buttoned ; the iron-gray mustache ; the 
shining bald head, framed by scattered 
white hairs, — these details made the im- 
pression of a man singularly forceful 
even to a chance observer. 

“ Now,” he continued, I don’t know 
that I want to smoke so much after all. 
Perhaps I had better turn in. These 
are busy times.” 

“You are in the midst of the financial 
mystery,” said Jarvis. “We outsiders 
think you could give a hint that could 
make us money.” 

“ Yes, yes, I suppose so. People are 
likely to attribute a great deal to a per- 
son whom they think inside. All I can 
say is this : Form your own idea ; then 
cling to it like grim death, in spite of 
gossip, or talk, or lies. Most people 
can’t form ideas, though, eh, Jarvis?” 

“ That ’s it,” said the younger man. 


28 


THE SPECULATOR. 


But my family, you know, never have 
been much in speculation.” 

“ Lucky people,” said Samuel Chester. 

But, you see, I have had to build up, 
all by myself.” 

“ You havebuilded wonderfully,” said 
Jarvis. He wanted to stand well with 
the man, and flattery doubtless counted ; 
he was Belinda’s father. 

Oh, I don’t know, I don’t know,” 
said Chester, striking a match. “ I do 
know I must go to bed.” 

“ And I,” said Jarvis, I have your 
good hospitality to sleep on.” He took 
Chester’s hand. “ I know you are wor- 
ried, sir. One must be in large opera- 
tions.” Jack Jarvis never would have 
said this if he had not cared for the 
man’s daughter. Love, who has laughed 
at locksmiths for decades, often pokes 
fine mockery at men’s prejudices. 

“ Thank you,” said Samuel Chester, 
“ and good-night.” 

As they parted on the steps he added : 
‘‘Thank you ; and I sha’n’t forget.” 


THE SPECULATOR. 


29 


IV. 


For a moment Chester watched the 
younger man’s retreating figure, laugh- 
ing ; but the laugh, without gayety, had 
the dry, mocking note of despair. But- 
toning his coat tightly across the throat, 
he walked toward the high porch of the 
house, showing its outline broadly 
against the darkish sky. “ The world 
is in mourning. Life is mostly struggle 
and disappointment,” he muttered. A 
cab rattled down the stilled street. A 
policeman stared curiously at the closely 
muffled figure. Chester started to take 
out his latch-key, when he noticed the 
half-opened door. “ They ’re fixing up 
things, I suppose.” 

A maid was placing a rug in the 
vestibule. “ The cleanin’ up has begun, 
sur,” she said. About the deserted 
rooms two men were moving, and a 
woman was scrubbing the polished 
floor. A place given up to servants 
after the revelry is like a world aban- 
doned — an oasis turned desert. 


30 


THE SPECULATOR. 


Chester had his hand on the ban- 
ister, when some one touched his 
shoulder. 

Papa, we missed you,” said Belinda, 
almost timidly. He took her face in 
his hands. “ How pretty you are — 
prettier than in your ball dress, I 
think.” Standing in the gaslight, in a 
loose gown, Belinda indeed seemed 
quite as effective as she had among the 
gay, contrasted colors of the dance. 

And you missed me, indeed ? I 
don’t believe you.” 

You know you believe me,” she de- 
clared. 

** I can’t deny the truth to a clair- 
voyant.” 

Her arm wound about his head, and 
her eyes looked into his : 

If I may be a clairvoyant, I know 
you are troubled to-night.” 

“ Am I not always troubled ? ” 

Well, you are always thinking, and 
thinking. You are occupied with plans 
about things that I know nothing of. 
Yes, you are always troubled, I think — 


THE SPECULATOR. 


31 


too much for a man who has worked all 
his life, as you have. But to-night 

well, to-night it is different. You 

are anxious, terribly anxious about 
something. What is it ? ” 

Samuel Chester’s eyes avoided his 
daughter's. 

I am not anxious now. Now — 
now I know.” 

The dull uninflected voice seemed to 
give reason to her worst fears. 

What do you know ? ” she asked 
almost wildly ; and again, more quietly, 
what do you know ? ” 

The clever old actor in the human 
comedy, skilled by experience, innu- 
merable failures, an indomitable will, 
a few apparent successes, turned to the 
questioner : 

** What are you bothering your little 
head about ? Think about your dresses 
and your dances — that 's all you have 
to do, my dear. My worrying does n’t 
amount to much.” 

“ What do you know ? Tell me, 
please — do tell me ? ” 


32 


THE SPECULATOR. 


“ What do I know ? Oh, I know you 
are tired out, and ought to go to bed.** 
So mamma said. But I told her 
I wanted to wait to see you. And I 
waited. Don*t you think you ought to 
tell me the trouble? Oh, I see it in 
your eyes, — in your poor tired face.** 

“You are a goose,** said the old man, 
touching her forehead. “ A great 
goose, puss.** 

“I may object to being called a 
goose,** she said. 

“Well, then, go to bed. We all are 
tired out ; good-night.** 

“ If you would tell me ? ” 

“I will — I will — I will tell you to 
have a good time, — that is all. Good- 
night.’* 

She kissed him with the soft purring 
of good women over those they love. 

“ Good-night.’* 

At her door she looked back at him 
still standing there. 

“ He always succeeds ; and he never 
has talked about his business. He 
always succeeds.** Yet she cried out, 


THE SPECULATOR. 


33 


almost hysterically : “ Why won’t he let 
us get near him ? ” No, no,” she mur- 
mured again ; he cannot fail.” Later 
she awoke, seeing Samuel Chester’s 
expression against the darkness. “ He 
is troubled,” she said again. He 
worked night and day for her happi- 
ness, and she thought too little of his 
efforts, his trials. 

When her door closed, the smile 
faded, till the old man’s face was long, 
drawn, wan. 

“ What have I told her ? But I must 
carry it through.” Again he was con- 
fronted. “ I cannot ; I absolutely can- 
not ! ” If he could not change the 
direction of his thoughts, he fancied he 
would be mad ; and more as a diversion 
than because he thought he would not 
awake, he called to one of the servants 
in the abandoned dancing- room: “ Wake 
me at seven.” With head bent forward 
he went to his room. 

The men and maids chattered, ex- 
changing observations that certainly 
might have been astonishing to their 
3 


34 


THE SPECULATOR. 


master. (What depths may there lie 
beneath the formal, smooth waiter's 
face ! What keenness for our foibles, 
our manners, our ordering of the salad !) 
They told over many a scandalous bit, 
helping its rapid diffusion. At last 
the lights were turned, except for one 
flickering jet in the hall ; and the house 
was still ; and outside was the subdued 
rumble of the town — the ceaseless, com- 
posite, human voice, that, if it might be 
translated, would tell the reason for life. 

An hour passed ; when a door in the 
upper hall opened, and a figure in an 
old dressing-gown shuffled along in 
slippers, like a ghost. 

And the old man was indeed an 
uneasy spirit, struggling with his prob- 
lem. Sleep he could not. If he closed 
his eyes, he could not shut out the 
inevitable. Belinda’s eyes, her words, 
kept echoing till almost he thought 
madness had him. He had made her 
career smooth in the pleasant paths, 
and suddenly all was swept away. He 
had failed before ; but when in youth, 


THE SPECULATOR. 35 

and then the burden had been com- 
paratively light. Now he had a great 
burden, which at seventy he could not 
hope to lift. Gone was the clever, 
diplomatic mask, and behind the dark- 
ness lay the saddest face of him who 
has failed and sees no end. About the 
deserted rooms went this despairing 
ghost of a strong man. At moments 
he cried out that on the morrow he 
should find some resource ; and again 
the world would turn his way ; and he 
had not the courage to tell her nor his 
wife. Certainly it would kill his wife. 

Against the darkness paraded the 
past, from first to last : the little New 
York town ; his shrewd trades ; the 
removal, late in life, to the larger 
field ; the first apparent failure ; and 
then the success, till the street ” 
turned in amaze at this new force. 
Many times he had stood at the brink ; 
many times, with clear, practical eye, 
he had overleaped ruin. Again he was 
at the brink — nay, falling into the 
abyss, broader and deeper than ever 


36 


THE SPECULATOR. 


before, while youth and strength no 
longer were his. The goal had been 
great, and so the risk, and the risk had 
gone against him. 

On that shifting stage of the past, his 
insincerities (for he had been counted 
‘‘ tricky ”), too, rose before him. Even 
in his despair, with a certain self-ad- 
miration he chuckled over those occa- 
sions when he had been the more 
shrewd, till he fell to cursing himself 
because at last a combination had out- 
witted him. 

But more often the rage became de- 
spairful, self-loathing at the predicament 
of those whom he counted dearest. If 
he had found inspiration in his achieve- 
ment, in his understanding of men and 
their natures, he had thought to put his 
success about his daughter like a cloak. 
Like the really masterful men, his 
nature had been always self-repressed. 
No one usually divined his ulterior 
motive, till the result showed ; and men 
cried out in admiration of his forceful 
view of things. He had in the highest 


THE SPECULATOR. 


37 


degree that trait which may be termed 
crudely the sense of combination ; and 
for his end he had been able always to 
use others. Often these were unaware 
that they had been used. But he who 
sees too far, Jove maddens. At last the 
very flattery of success poisoned the 
brain. At last, blinded by the results 
to be had from the success of a plan, 
he had calculated with too little mas- 
tery of the means ; and now she would 
suffer. The cloak of his success was 
rent. 

“ I could not tell her. Oh, I could 
not tell her,” said this despairful ghost. 

All of his world had been that of 
money-gaining ; and now his world had 
turned against him. He had not the 
resource of a broader nature, which, 
indeed, would not have commanded his 
ephemeral success. 

And in the silence the old man 
cursed himself and his folly. Ah I 
such folly ! But what content lay in 
the repeated assurance of that which 
he knew ; he had been a fool. 


38 


THE SPECULATOR. 


With inconsequence the far past 
came a second time on the shifting 
scenes of the disordered brain. He 
saw the rounded hill-sides of the Sus- 
quehanna, where he had begun. Old 
familiar boyish and girlish faces flitted 
past him. If I could get away and 
rest there ! If I could go back ! ” 

“Fool,” he cried again. 

Then with the same inconsequence 
the faces of the guests in his own house 
of the past evening came on that dark- 
ish scene where they had been. He 
knew that these people smiled on him 
because he had been successful. He 
knew his human nature. He could see 
them exchanging glances. He could 
hear the savage gossip of a parrot- 
faced old woman. He heard mean, 
envious remarks, repressed because he 
was powerful ; because he spent more 
in entertaining than any man in the 
town ; because his manipulations made 
and unmade fortunes, and the lives that 
hung dependent on money. He had 
commanded ; and now his folly had 


THE SPECULATOR. 39 

taken the command from his hands. 
They could make her suffer. They 
could sacrifice her feelings. Envious 
gossip would play with his dear ones, 
when they no longer might command at 
least outward respect. His wife might 
meet calamity with fine endurance. She 
was a strong character like himself. Yet 
what might not even she suffer when his 
aid was taken away ? 

The moralist was wise indeed when 
he said : Envy not others. Ye know 
not their thorns.” 

Of that autumn night a year ago no 
man was more pricked with lacerating 
thorns than Samuel Chester. 

Twice had the hours struck. Still 
the personification of uneasy thoughts 
wandered about his own house. The 
windows were beginning to admit the 
clouded dawn. When he noticed this 
the old man made a strong effort at 
self-repression. Like a self-discovered 
and guilty creature he looked about, half 
expecting some one to have seen him. 
The door in the upper hall closed. 


40 


THE SPECULATOR. 


What calm stolidity do inanimate 
things present to our passions ! Yet 
the scenes where passions have been 
preserve a certain interest. The rooms 
at Holyrood seem silent witnesses of 
the emotions in the drama played there 
by Mary Stuart. And how might these 
deserted rooms tell of him who slept 
uneasily behind the closed door. 


V. 

He who has been gay at a dancing 
party may look from his window in the 
morning on a dull earth where were the 
stars. Jarvis saw the storm, blown from 
the sea, the glistening tops of cabs, and 
passers in melancholy waterproofs. 
“ Winter ! ” he said ; and he could 
fancy his aunt’s voice in indecision over 
Bermuda, Nassau, Santa Barbara, or the 
Riviera. Though after nine, neither 
his brother nor aunt was at breakfast, 
where over the coffee he saw Belinda 
in distress or scorning his suit ; her 
father ; and Robson’s prediction. As he 
expected, the papers devoted columns to 


THE SPECULATOR. 


41 


the financial situation, in one case 
treating W yoming-Pacific editorially. In 
another column was the ball, his own 
name among those present, and a para- 
graph devoted to Belinda Chester and 
her costume. He found himself saying 
that it was characteristic of Samuel 
Chester to keep both the attention of the 
speculative and the social town at the 
same time. And then he sat silent for 
some moments in unusual revery, much 
like that of the previous night in the 
deserted caf6. Undecided whether to 
take a canter after the coffee, he said 
that he needed the exercise. “ I don’t 
understand myself,” he muttered. 

The old Jarvis house is on Washing- 
ton Square ; but a half dozen years 
since, in his father’s last years, the fam- 
ily moved into the new house, which is 
pointed out to the visitor as one of the 
fine dwellings of the town. From his 
front door Jarvis had a minute’s walk 
to the stable, and directly he was in the 
bridle-paths of the Park, the rain on his 
face. Few people were in the saddle 


42 


THE SPECULATOR. 


that stormy morning, and regardless of 
the silent protest of the few mounted 
policemen, who knew him well, Jarvis 
urged his horse into a swinging canter 
and then a wild run about the reservoir, 
and on into the paths bordering Mount 
Saint Vincent. 

The driveways seemed to accentuate 
the lonely mood of this ordinarily far 
from lonely young man. He thought 
of the gayety of the spot on a recent 
fine afternoon ; the rolling equipages 
nowadays making as elaborate a dis- 
play as ever the Bois de Boulogne 
or Hyde Park in their season. Like 
the memory of the brilliant evening 
contrasted with this dreary morning 
after, the deserted paths and roadways 
were depressing. He rode back past 
the Casino Cafe, where he remembered 
one moonlit July evening he had sat 
watching the miscellaneous crowd ; 
while a certain impractical friend, of 
the literary lay, had talked superb phi- 
losophy, in the manner very young 
men gain after the cordial following 


THE SPECULATOR. 


43 


the coifee. Jarvis caught himself 
laughing hoarsely at the memory. 
‘‘This is the sort of morning,” he mut- 
tered, “ when the littleness and mean- 
ness in human nature get the better. 
This is the kind of depressing sky 
which produces sordid crimes.” 

And when he had dismounted he did 
not feel the least better for the exercise; 
though the horse had been in a lively 
mood ; he wished for a hunter, which 
might have given him a hard, forgetful 
struggle. The thought of the night 
before still perplexing, he took the 
Sixth Avenue Elevated at Fifty-eighth 
Street. Standing up the distance, he 
left the train at Park Place. Walking 
briskly down Broadway, he decided to 
stop at Chester & Co’s. In Wall Street 
many nodded to this fortunate young 
man. One shouted : “ Oh, such a day 
down here. Jack. Fortunes dropped 
right and left. It ’s exhilarating, to 
say the least ” ; and he was gone in the 
eager crowd. 

The office of Chester & Company 


44 THE SPECULATOR. 

was close about the corner of Nassau 
Street from Wall. 

Inside everybody seemed busy. 
Messengers came and went. A black 
porter, with a cap having on its tin 
band, ** Chester & Co.,” bore in a large 
package. This was at eleven-twenty. 
Jarvis inquired for Mr. Chester. 

“ He is out. You can see Mr. Rey- 
nolds, I think.” 

“Oh, I won’t wait,” said Jarvis. 
“ Only tell Mr. Chester I will call for 
him shortly after twelve.” 

As Jarvis walked out two clerks 
paused, each holding a pen between the 
the teeth. 

“ You know who he is ? ” 

“ No.” 

“Jack Jarvis.” 

“ Really, I wish I had his millions,” 
said the other, with the expression of a 
child whose mouth is watering over 
some unattainable confection. “Bless 
me, I would like to have a bank 
account with a fat balance in black 
ink.” 


THE SPECULATOR. 45 

“ I hope you did n’t mean in red 
ink?” 

Shut up. Give me that footing. 
What a day this is, to be sure ! ” 

‘‘ Nine, seventy, fifty-three.” 

‘‘ What ’s that— fifty-three ? ” 

“Yes; check.” 

“ I wonder how we are coming out in 
this little matter ? Oh, I wish I could 
get my hand in. Supposing Wyoming- 
Pacific should not turn ? I should be 
ruined.” 

“ So would Sam Chester. Do you 
suppose he would let it tumble too 
far ? ” 

“ I hope not, I want to make some- 
thing myself. I want a change ; keeping 
books too long leaves one a machine.” 

“ Hold on there — the footings.” 

The dreary morning light vied with 
the gas jets. A dozen heads leaned 
over the dusty ledgers. And what did 
these heads see on the figured pages ? 

Some, I suppose, found the pigments 
of their own brains ; Daisy’s eyes ; the 
problem of bringing the expenditure 


46 


THE SPECULATOR. 


within the income ; the possibilities of 
Yale or Princeton on Thanksgiving 
Day ; or an older head thought of his 
house in the Oranges ; or of his flat in 
Harlem ; or — Did you see the new 
dancers of the Gayety ? ” Hush, there 
is some news from the Street.” 

A man with sloping shoulders came 
from an inner office, exchanging some 
remarks with a stout man, who plainly 
was agitated. The man with the sloping 
shoulders had sallow skin, like a dark 
yellow paper, through which gleamed 
black, alert eyes. The mouth was 
so broad that when it opened wide in 
the animated talk it had the effect of a 
cavern yawning in a reddish soil ; for 
Benton, the investment clerk, wore a 
short-cropped red beard. How dried a 
soul is Benton ! His tall, flabby figure 
seems to declare a man who has out- 
lived emotion ; and in some way he 
stands for a definition of reticence. 

An hour later, when Jarvis came again 
to the corner of Nassau Street, it was 
Benton who explained : 


THE SPECULATOR. 


47 


My God, Mr. Jarvis, we have closed 
our doors.” And he tottered away, 
turning back muttering : 

“ It will kill him — Mr. Chester. It 
will kill him, and me, — me.” 

For he had seen the great man rise ; 
and now he knew his fall. After twenty 
years the house of Chester & Co., had 
closed its doors. Through a corner of 
the drawn curtains Jarvis saw Reynolds, 
the partner, dictating to a type-writer. 
At the door nobody knew the wherea- 
bouts of Samuel Chester. Then he edged 
his way through the excited crowd. 

All the world knows the story of the 
crash of a year ago. How Chester & Co., 
closed its days, and how many others 
followed. In an hour Wyoming-Pacific 
fell fifteen points, and the whole list 
acted in sympathy. Within an hour 
fortunes were made and lost ; many 
were made miserable ; a few counted 
themselves lucky. And one of the 
greatest operators of the last ten years 
fell ; a man whose success seemed to 
admit of no defeat, at last was defeated. 


48 


THE SPECULATOR. 


Jarvis carried with him an impression 
of the excited crowd ; the rising voices ; 
hurrying passers : Don’t you wish 

you were down here ! ” somebody shout- 
ed. “ Hello, what makes you so blue ? 
Are you on the Bull side ?” 

He would have given the world for a 
glimpse of Samuel Chester. By the 
merest chance he did see him. In Trini- 
ty Lane is a place with the title “ Old 
Tom’s,” boastful of dispensing good 
cheer since 1800. Glancing through 
the window by the merest chance, as 
I say, Jarvis saw an old man whom at 
first he did not recognize. For this old 
person, on whose face the years sud- 
denly declared ravages hitherto hidden, 
was Samuel Chester. Before him was 
an empty glass. Some men regarded 
him closely and curiously, evidently 
knowing that he was the fallen great 
man ; two waiters whispered together. 

Jarvis stepped forward. 

“Mr. Chester,” he said, “I want to 
offer you assistance, — my endorsement, 
if it can help you.” 


THE SPECULATOR. 49 

And suddenly the old man seemed to 
regain self-control. 

“ Mr. Jarvis, God bless you !” he said 
huskily, and he pressed the young man’s 
hand. “ But it ’s too late.” 

“ Are you sure } ” 

“ Don’t I know ? Why, sir, I am at 
this minute under a load of debt that 
would scatter half your fortune. Do 
you hear ? Do you hear ? I am ruined ! ” 

Jarvis stood silently for a moment. 
For failure always is pathetic, and more 
than that he believed he loved this 
man’s daughter. 

“ Yet you can do me one favor,” said 
Samuel Chester. 

“ I shall be happy if I may.” 

“ You have done me the greatest 
favor in sympathy. The unsuccessful 
don’t get much of that. But that 
is n’t what I was going to ask you.” 
He hesitated a moment, and began 
again. 

‘^Will you go up-town and tell my 
wife and daughter that I may not turn 
up for two or three days ? ” 

4 


50 


THE SPECULATOR. 


“ Had you not better see them your- 
self ? ” 

“ I cannot." And he added : “ Why, 
I had sooner face shot than them from 
whom I — I have taken every thing." 

“ And you ? " 

“Tell them that I am busy, — and 
that — tell them," he cried, leaping up, 
“that I will bring things around, and 
they must n’t worry. I will bring things 
around." 

“I believe you." 

“ I wish I believed myself. I must 
go back — and — and " 

He took Jarvis’ hand. 

“You will do me a favor I sha’n’t 
forget." 

And he was gone, with something of 
his old manner, along Trinity Lane. 

Jarvis looked at his watch. It was 
nearly two now. Before going up-town 
he decided to turnback into Wall Street. 
Near the closing of the Exchange 
every thing still marked the stirring 
events of the day. He heard how the de- 
pression of the past weeks was explained 


THE SPECULATOR. 


51 


now by the long, continual selling of 
their securities by the Chesters ; how 
on this critical day people had seen for- 
tunes slip away because they had not 
the money to cover their margins ; how 
fifty, sixty, any per cent, was offered for 
money ; how in the uproar of the room 
men had heard that Chester & Co. no 
longer could meet their obligations ; 
how confidence in every thing was 
shaken, and people doubted the stabil- 
ity of the greatest houses. He saw the 
lean, drawn faces bent over the tape, 
telling of changes for or against ; the 
exultant eyes of others. 

But all the world knows the story 
now, since philosophers and economists 
have written their papers. Yet for all 
their wisdom, likely we shall see people 
many times going mad over rumors, 
courting fortune or poverty in the 
turning of the hour-hand. 

And, like the background of darken- 
ing sky and dull, yellow stubble, to 
Millet’s peasant, the rumble of the town 
made a mental background to this 


52 


THE SPECULATOR. 


scene, — the hurrying men, the eager, 
anxious talk, the subdued observations 
of clerks, the keen, nervous, disturbed 
faces. 

VI. 

Now Jarvis was as selfish as most 
men. He was commonplace. He was 
rich. But he was stirred in the region 
of the heart. His brain had had an 
influx from the other organ in his 
breast. He was reaching the point, 
dear to romancers, where selfishness 
may include two persons. 

With all possible haste he went from 
Wall Street to the Chester house ; and 
in the ride up-town he thought only of 
how she might take the news, and the 
most fitting phrases. 

Nearing the house, he noticed first 
the drawn curtains. This left him on 
the lower step, questioning whether 
the news had preceded him here. He 
ventured, and ran up the steps. The 
maid told him Miss Chester was out. 
When was she expected ? Now she 


THE SPECULATOR. 


53 


did n’t know, sir ; but probably not 
before five or six. No, Mrs. Chester 
was not at home. Disappointed, for he 
feared that the news might reach her by 
some more rude messenger, J arvis turned 
away. It occurred to him then that she 
probably knew already of the exciting 
events of the day ; very likely Samuel 
Chester had given his family warning. 
Walking towards the avenue, Jarvis was 
perplexed over the motive for the great 
ball of the previous night, in the face of 
disaster. Yet, he decided again, this 
last outbreak of lavish display, with the 
assured knowledge of ruin, was not out 
of keeping with the uncommon charac- 
ter of Chester’s career from the first. 
For fifteen years he had held the atten- 
tion of financial, and recently of social. 
New York ; and the candle of his celeb- 
rity only had given a last flare before it 
was snuffed. 

Jarvis was now too uneasy to follow 
any of his regular occupations, either 
of business or pleasure, and the two 
hours before five seemed promiseful of 


54 


THE SPECULATOR. 


weariness. For, whether she knew or 
not, he was bound to deliver Samuel 
Chester’s message. This person’s strong 
character left it not unlikely that yet 
he might regain fortune ; for nothing 
seemed altogether impossible of the 
man, when you once were under the 
spell of his will. Again, walking down 
the avenue, Jarvis regretted that he had 
not remained with the old man, and had 
not insisted on his accepting assistance. 
He fluctuated indeed between the two 
opinions : of Chester able to retrieve 
any misfortune ; and of him overtaken 
at last by his Waterloo. Did not ad- 
venturers of his sort, whether in politics, 
war, finance, who had won success by 
extraordinary daring, and the favor of 
chance, fail because of the same daring, 
and the chance become unpropitious ? 
But the daring and chance are not 
directed by the same common-sense at 
the end. The perversion of sensible- 
ness is the personal evil which, increas- 
ing, lays low those w'ho seemingly are 
Bonapartes, with stars securely ascend- 


THE SPECULATOR. 


55 


ing ; and Bonaparte is the bitter exile 
of Saint Helena. 

Many bowed to our friend Jarvis. 
One pretty woman called from her 
brougham : “ Ah, how do you do ? 

Why, what is the matter ? Are you ill, 
Mr. Jarvis?” And then she went to 
other matters, while Jarvis with acute 
sensitiveness expected her every minute 
to refer to the Chester affair. With 
complete absorption in his subject, he 
thought, as is common in such a mood, 
that every person he met was thinking of 
the same things ; and he resented these 
imagined thoughts, because of Belinda 
Chester. In Madison Square he crossed 
the green to a place of his frequenting, 
where he sat in the reading-room, me- 
chanically scanning The Spectator. 
Without noting the words, he caught 
detached sentences ; then he heard a 
man he knew declare : 

‘‘I ’m tired out.” 

“ The day has strained your nerves, 
eh?” answered somebody. 

“ I should believe they were strained- 


56 


THE SPECULATOR. 


Many more like this may wear a man 
out. We were at work at the office till 
nearly midnight last night.” 

“ I was down, too. As you walked 
along you saw men with faces bent over 
ledgers. Every gas jet seemed going.” 

“ It was worse in London.” 

You have had a cable ? ” 

Yes.” 

“I tell you one thing. Nobody 
knows how far this Chester matter may 
reach.” 

“ Things have not reached the bot- 
tom yet.” 

“ You don’t think it the time to buy ? ” 

“ Well, no, if one can be a Bear in 
the way that man Robson is. I am 
told he cleared something like five 
hundred thousand dollars to-day.” 

“ Rumor again. You have been long 
enough on the Street not to be influ- 
enced. " 

“Yes, of course, but I know this to 
be so.” 

“ What do you know to be so ? ” 
asked another. 


THE SPECULATOR. 


57 


“ Rumors on the Street.” 

“ Oh, yes, always.” 

During the year past Jarvis indeed 
has heard many times of Robson suc- 
cesses. But the man is an adventurer ; 
and with a certain maliciousness he 
waits for the false move he thinks in- 
evitable with adventurers. Has this 
Robson the acuteness to support a false 
move ? 

Jarvis had tired of this talk ; and he 
moved across'^ the room only to be 
accosted by a little fellow whom he 
saw rarely, though years ago they had 
been warm friends in New Haven. Perry 
now was an editorial writer on one of 
the morning newspapers, and their 
paths were wide apart. Yet Jarvis_ 
liked to renew occasionally the ac- 
quaintance of this man, with whom he 
could not sympathize. Writers and 
literary people always appeared to him 
to be wasting much brains for a small 
reward. He was inclined to measure 
the material reward gained by a man in 
his opinion of the man’s capacity. 


58 


THE SPECULATOR. 


“ Our friends in the speculative field 
seem rather agitated,” observed Perry. 

“ I grant you they do.” 

“ Yes — yes — they have given us some- 
thing to serve up to-morrow. And that 
Chester affair ; what a subject for a 
sermon on riches ! That fellow was 
the greatest speculator, excepting one, 

perhaps, of New York, and now 

Well, we will write his financial obituary 
to-morrow.” 

“Oh, I suppose so,” assented Jarvis, 
moving uneasily. 

“ What a fine contrast,” went on the 
eager Perry, with his professional scent, 
“ what a splendid contrast ! This morn- 
ing the papers were telling of the ball 
and Belinda Chester’s beauty — and to- 
night ! and to-morrow ” 

“ Well, well, I suppose so,” said Jar- 
vis, impatiently. 

Perry stared. “ Oh, yes, you are not 
particularly interested,” he said. “ Now, 
that brings me to another subject con- 
nected with to-day’s excitement — that 
is, the bigness of things outside of 


THE SPECULATOR. 59 

the exchanges and bourses of the 
world.” 

He went on to say that while the new 
enterprises, the development of untried 
fields, took up much capital and the 
loans of great banking houses, there 
was much which was not offered in the 
open market. The Stock Exchange 
was not all of London, nor Wall Street 
all of America. The money which had 
poured in from the country to take 
advantage of the low prices proved this. 
For example, thousands might be made 
happy or wretched by Samuel Chester’s 
failure to carry through Wyoming-Pa- 
cific ; yet millions hardly would notice 
the affair, except as a passing piece of 
news. Of course the depreciation of 
values would carry far, like the ripples 
caused by dropping a stone in calm 
water. But the calm water, the earning 
capital, would absorb the ripples finally. 

Matters may change. Properties may 
vary and find new quotations. But the 
wealth of the world exists per se^ and 
you cannot destroy it. In three months, 


t50 


THE SPECULATOR. 


even in thirty days, we all may be 
Bulls.” 

Jarvis found some comfort in the 
assertions of the didactic little man. 
He no longer felt so sure that every- 
body was talking of the matter first in 
his mind. To strengthen this impres- 
sion, he walked again across Madison 
Square and down Broadway against 
that stream of afternoon shoppers. 
These people looked fortunate ; the 
women were often more than pretty, 
and he saw many men with the air 
)f breeding about them. Laughter and 
earnestness fell on his observation, till 
suddenly he saw that his circle was not 
even all of New York, and that New York 
was not all of the nation, and that not 
one person in five hundred that he passed 
cared an iota about Wyoming-Pacific. 

So the fact of the world being greater 
than he, forced itself on the fortunate 
young man’s attention. And the reason 
for these unusual observations was that 
his anxiety for Belinda Chester exceeded 
his thoughts of himself. 


THE SPECULATOR. 6l 

A quarter past five he again was at the 
door. 

I will see,” said the same prim maid, 
taking his card. In a few moments 
she returned : Miss Chester begs to 
be excused.” 

“Will you tell her, please, that I 
come from Mr. Chester ? ” 

After a long time the girl returned : 

“ She will be here presently, sir.” 

Again the time seemed long before 
f Belinda Chester was framed between 
the portieres. Jarvis arose clumsily, 
whatever ease of manner he may have 
had ordinarily, gone. He thought her 
pale, and he approved the simplicity 
of the black gown. 

“ Have you word from papa ? ” she 
asked faintly. 

“ I was fortunate enough to see him 
— by the merest chance.” 

And he told her the message. 

“ I do not like it, exactly,” said 
Belinda. “Why does n’t he let us see 
him?” 

Jarvis did not know what to say. 


62 


THE SPECULATOR. 


“I suspected our trouble last night, 
— but — but he would not tell me. And 
this morning he went away before we 
saw him. I must see him, Mr. Jarvis. 
It will kill mamma if she can’t see 
him.” 

“ I will try to see him,” said Jarvis, 
rising. “ I will tell him your wish. 
Yet — he thought of the strength of 
the man, — “ yet he may be able to 
bring things about ; he never has 
failed.” 

Then the girl gave a glad cry : 

“ He can, he will ; and yet — yet, why 
will he not let us spmpathize with him ? 
Why ” 

‘‘Excuse me,” said Jarvis, simply; 
“ but is it not better to let him have his 
way ? He seems that kind of man.” 

“ He is,” said Belinda, her hands 
crossed behind her. 

Jarvis took a step toward her. He 
felt his self-possession leaving him, as 
a matter-of-fact man may. Yet he only 
said : 

“ I am sorry, — very sorry.” 


THE SPECULATOR. 63 

And she answered with simple direct- 
ness : 

“ I know you are.” 

“ You know more than that,” he 
said. 

At this declaration, she hesitated ; 
till, dropping her eyes, 

“ Yes,” she said softly. 

And then her attractiveness so intoxi- 
cated him that the episode happened, 
which story-tellers phrase, “ he took her 
in his arms.” We may suppose Jarvis 
did something of this kind. 

Later, she said : “ What may people 
say, when papa has failed ? ” 

I care for you, not for people,” 
said Jack Jarvis. 

“ But supposing Mrs. Bennington 
Jarvis should know ; what would she 
say ? ” 

She almost could see Mrs. Benning- 
ton Jarvis" face, and hear her calm 
voice : ‘‘ It ’s a trick of that wonderful 
trickster, Samuel Chester, I know.” 

But Jack Jarvis said : 

“ I believe in you ; yes, I love you. 


64 


THE SPECULATOR. 


As for my aunt, why, she must be proud 
of you, the prettiest girl in the town.” 

‘‘ Women do not see with men’s eyes,” 
said Belinda. 

You may suppose that Jarvis declared 
that if this were true women were pitia- 
ble. But she did not notice his words. 
She was happy while unhappy, and her 
self-reproach was bitter. Where was 
the one who had produced her station ? 
Why did he not suffer her sympathy ? 
Because of her misery, perhaps, she 
had surrendered to Jarvis. Now, like 
Rosalind, she did not think so much of 
the lover as of the wanderer, who had 
denied her knowledge of his affairs 
and his perplexities. At last tears 
came to her relief ; and yet the woman’s 
longing to extend sympathy was not 
less bitter. 


VII. 

When Jarvis left Chester in Trinity 
Lane the old man had started to return 
to the office that, for the first time in 
twenty years, showed closed doors to 


THE SPECULATOR. 


65 

the business day. All the morning 
Chester had appeared his ordinary self, 
not once losing the self-control, the non- 
committal expression that had been no 
mean factor in his success. In the face 
of failure he still seemed the same 
astute, unconcerned man. Only at the 
last had the mask been wearisome be- 
yond endurance, and he had rushed 
away, striving to lose himself in the 
crowd, and finding himself at last in 
Trinity Lane ; where he had discov- 
ered the futility of trying to avoid 
people. I must, — I must face conse- 
quences,” he muttered, biting his lips. 
He would go back to Nassau Street. 
So he tottered, like an old man (he 
never had appeared his age), into 
Broadway. 

At the corner he found it impossible 
to carry out his intention, and for the 
first time in his life he turned from the 
street into Trinity Churchyard. 

A few strollers, sentimental and coun- 
try folk, were about the paths, and he 
felt no one knew him. He studied the 
5 


66 


THE SPECULATOR. 


tombstones commemorating a younger 
America and its achievement. Feebly 
he muttered over a distinguished name : 
“ How weak we are ! what creatures of 
an hour ! ” The tombstones did not 
answer. At last he found their mean- 
ing : “ Your hour is past. You are a 
living epitaph of your own dead achieve- 
ment.” So the place spoke to him. 

The while his dislike to a return to 
Nassau Street increased. If he were a 
sorry epitaph of past achievement, he 
did not wish people to scoff at or moral- 
ize over him. Where he had been 
strong in self-mastery, now was he weak, 
till the aversion had him, and he now 
could not return to the place of his 
disgrace. 

For he had been not only a strong 
but a successful man, and this defeat 
had stunned his power over himself. 
«Any who are his like may understand 
Samuel Chester as he was in Trinity 
Churchyard a year ago. The thought 
of the wife and daughter increased this 
weakness, and he longed with a sickness 


THE SPECULATOR. 


67 


of heart to get away from himself and 
from those knowing him. 

And then, as may be the case with 
an old person in mental uncertainty, 
the far past became clearer than the 
burdensome present ; and, as the night 
before when wandering about his own 
house, he longed to have the old peo- 
ple, the old scenes again. If he might 
only get away from himself ; if he only 
could lose the interval and take up life 
where he had left it. 

He had been walking on now, oblivi- 
ous of his surroundings ; and he looked 
up to find himself in a dirty street of 
the East Side, where squalor grasps the 
hand of crime. Frowsy women, sickly 
children, irresponsible, broken men, — 
the social rags, — passed and looked at 
him, till suddenly the whilom success- 
ful person, who yesterday would have 
contemned the like of these, felt his 
kinship as a human being. If he had 
not chanced to have been born of hon- 
est blood and clean folk, he too might 
be now a sorry wanderer. 


68 


THE SPECULATOR. 


And these were the people — the burn- 
ing masses beneath the fair mountain 
of organized society ; that occasionally 
belches out illogical theory and the 
wretchedness of foul lives, ever ready 
to cover its fair slopes with the lava, 
bringing chaos. 

In mental matters we always are in- 
exact. What is reason ? or unreason ? 
what madness ? we ask ; and no learned 
doctor, if he be an expert from Bloom- 
ingdale or Utica, can answer exactly. 
He may say that the brain cells are 
distorted in a lunatic, and may tell the 
scientific why or wherefore to a certain 
nicety ; and yet always he must pause 
with “but.” Madness, in short, is a 
word, a phrase ; as we say electricity of 
a fluid, the nature and methods of which 
we yet cannot harness with exact defi- 
nition. 

Without doubt, the man who had 
controlled others now passed over his 
own self-control to disease of the brain 
cells. For suddenly, both with the im- \ 
pulse of flight (remaining with us from 


THE SPECULATOR. 


69 


the wildness of a far ancestry) and with ' 
the desire to be again among the scenes i 
of youth, Samuel Chester decided to go 
to the place which he had left twenty ■ 
years before, in search of the larger '; 
career. In the dissatisfying present, he 
longed for the simpler past, for rest, 
for the early career. I fail, indeed, in 
rendering clear the reasons leading to 
the intention. But the intention — or 
the impulse of flight from crushing 
defeat — was there. 

Two hours after the closing of the 
doors of Chester & Co., the head of 
the house, a year since so famous for 
its operations, was at the foot of 
Chambers Street, asking for the train 
to Binghamton. 

“ The last ferry is leaving for the 
three-o’clock Chicago Limited,” said 
the man. 

A man in a phantasy, the threads of 
reason scattered, Samuel Chester stood 
on the forward deck of the ferry. 
He was dimly conscious of the river, 
the faces of the crowd, of the sound 


70 


THE SPECULATOR. 


of the falling chains at the dock, and 
of the station, with its waiting faces 
about the scattered settees. 

“ Binghamton, Buffalo, Cleveland, 
Cincinnati, Chicago,” bawled the 
practised lungs at the door on the 
right. 

“ Your seat ticket, sah ? ” asked a 
black porter. Chester mechanically 
fumbled in his pocket. 

Get me one,” he said. 

The porter said it was a sleeper, not 
a chair car ; and they “ got thah in six 
hours.” 

“ Get me a section, — any thing,” said 
Samuel Chester so decidedly, that the 
man went almost on a run toward the 
Pullman ticket-office. 

Mechanically, Chester noted the peo- 
ple in the coach. Two young people 
talked eagerly, as if they had not been 
chattering to each other continually 
for two hours. A stout drummer 
bustled with noisy self-assertiveness 
over his section. A young man en- 
tered, carrying a hat-box and a port- 


THE SPECULATOR. 


71 


manteau well covered with foreign 
labels. A clerical-looking man drew a 
black skull-cap from a thick satchel. 
The train started. A boy threw a yellow- 
covered novel on the seat by Chester. 

Onward flew the train over the 
marshes where the mist still hung ; past 
villages and farmhouses, and among 
the factories of the town of Paterson ; 
and on again between the wooded hills, 
and villages, and farmhouses, and fields 
with scattered stone walls ; past Tuxedo 
with its quaint, old-world aspect, as if 
this were an English or Scotch town at 
the border of an estate ; and on till the 
early November darkness began to blur 
the panorama. 

First call for dinnah,” said a porter 
in a white apron. 

The landscape grew more blurred till 
suddenly it seemed — so oblivious is the 
ordinary sense to exact gradations — a 
wall of blackness pierced here and there 
by a point of light, or the rare electric 
glare of the larger towns, the headlight of 
a passing locomotive, or the flaring oil- 


72 


THE SPECULATOR. 


lamps, the board structure, the curious, 
rural faces at some country station. 

Chester sat in the corner of his seat, 
a man in a stupor that knew not the 
surroundings except as imperfect de- 
tails. When at times he was aroused, 
he felt his disaster, yet uncertainly, 
with no clear knowledge. The only 
event perfectly clear was the purpose 
to be again in the scene of long ago. 

Diagonally across from Chester sat a 
person who had been regarding him 
with curious observation. This was a 
florid, narrowly worldly person who 
might be a successful tradesman in a 
little country town. He was dressed as 
if with a sense of the necessity of 
a favorable impression ; and the frock- 
coat and white cravat appeared to 
emphasize, too, the wearer’s conscious- 
ness of personal importance. He was 
one of those people who loom up in a 
little rural community, and who labor 
under a nervous self-consciousness when 
chance may bring them into the larger 
world. 


THE SPECULATOR. 


73 


The scrutiny seemed to arouse a 
curiosity demanding an immediate sat- 
isfaction, till at last he approached 
Chester’s seat. 

Hem ! hem ! ” he began. 

But Chester did not stir. 

“ Hem ! hem ! ” he repeated, when 
Chester started uneasily. 

Mr. Samuel Chester ? ” he queried. 

And Chester became aware of the 
questioner ; and his old worldly, non- 
committal, apparently self-complacent 
self stared at the questioner. That is 
my name, sir.” 

The other said : “You don’t remem- 
ber me, I see. I am Peter Willington.” 

“ The Peter Willington I used to 
know in Binghamton years ago ? ” 

“Yes, it ’s me, Sam.” And he went 
on: “ You ’re a great man now. Yes, 
we do occasionally hear of you up our 
way. How could we help it ? You are 
a wonderful man.” 

Then with great relief Chester knew 
that this man did not know of his 


reverses. 


74 


THE SPECULATOR. 


Really you ? ” he said. “ Pete Wil- 
lington ? Why, of course, I can see 
your face, though time has left it old 
and wrinkled.” 

Willington laughed. “ I allow you ’re 
not the same scrumpious young beau 
that courted Mirandy Waters in Broome 
County fifty years ago, I guess.” 

“ No, I ’m not, I suppose,” assented 
Chester. “ Poor Miranda ! What be- 
came of her ? She married somebody 
in Illinois did n’t she ? ” 

‘‘Yes, in Illiney. Oh, she ’s dead, I 
hear. One of her sons is a Congress- 
man, I ’m told. Ah, Sam, you ’re a 
smart one.” 

“ Am I ? ” questioned Chester, depre- 
catingly. 

“ Yes, you are. We used to say, you 
know, that you never would amount to 
any thing, because you want smart at 
plowin’. The dickins, man, the first 
thing you did was to marry Squire 
Pringle’s daughter — we thought him 
rich then, — and after that you removed 
to Middlewood, and you grew and grew, 


THE SPECULATOR. 


75 


till I have heard that you are the richest 
man in the country. The papers are 
full of your doin’s.” 

And Chester sat there with a 
deprecating gesture seeming to convey 
assent. 

“Well,” went on Willington, “I 
looked over here,, and I looked again ; 
and says I, * Sure that ’s Sam Chester 
as he would be as an old man ’ ; and 
then I summoned up cheek and spoke 
out.” 

“ I am glad you did. Where are you 
living, and how are you getting on ? ” 
said Chester. 

Then the little great man said to him 
who had been largely great : “ Oh, I 

own some farms in Susquehanna Coun- 
ty ; and I Ve got two dry-goods stores 
that pay moderately well. I guess I 
can pay my debts. Got any children, 
Sam ? ” 

“ Yes, a daughter,” said Chester, and, 
at the word, his face fell, while he 
remembered the predicament of his 
family. Where was he going ? What 


76 


THE SPECULATOR. 


mad impulse possessed him ? Yet to the 
other he still presented the smiling 
worldly mask. 

“ A daughter, eh ? I should like to 
see her. I have seven children livin’, 
and they ’re all doin’ moderately well. 
One o’ my boys is makin’ a pile out o’ 
copper in Northern Wisconsin. Another 
is settled in Dakoty, where he is a 
county clerk. The rest are settled down 
in the nest at home. Good children 
are a blessin’. None of mine drink, or 
have any bad habits. — Where are you 
goin’ ? ” 

^*To Binghamton.” 

“ Goin back there to visit, eh ?” 

“ No, no, — not exactly, — not exact- 
ly,” and the last words were almost 
a sob. Yet he maintained the smiling 
face ; only the voice went beyond 
control. 

“You’ve got a cold, I guess,” said 
the curious Willington. “ I’ m goin’ 
through to Salamancy to-night. One 
of the stores is out there. I ’ve been to 
New York buyin’ winter stock.” 


THE SPECULATOR. 77 

The confidence seemed to ask for a 
return, which it did not receive. The 
man’s presence had become odious ; till 
Chester told him that he did not feel 
well, and could not talk. Even then he 
persisted, unconscious of the effort to 
be rid of him. 

“ It ’s the last call foh dinnah, sab,” 
said the waiter ; and Chester remem- 
bered that he had not eaten since 
morning. In the dining coach he lost 
for a time the obnoxious, well-meaning 
attention of his old acquaintance. The 
car this afternoon had persons of the 
different kinds to be found on the New 
York and Chicago trains ; from drum- 
mers to English tourists, who comment- 
ed on the extraordinary American 
modes of conveniencing travellers. 
These different persons made no im- 
pression at all on Chester. 

With fork half raised, he asked the 
question : Was the past, which he was 
seeking, to be made up of details like 
Willington ? Or was Willington indeed 
even as a young man like the person he 


78 


THE SPECULATOR. 


had met ? And then the question and 
logical processes again abandoned him. 
He was dimly conscious of returning to 
his seat, and a renewal of the talk with 
Peter Willington, till the train drew 
into a larger town than any yet passed ; 
the porter said Binghamton,” and he 
was left on the platform on a spot where 
he had not been for twenty years. The 
exclamations of “ ’Bus ” drivers over the 
virtues of the hostelries they represent- 
ed recalled him. He was shivering 
with cold ; for the rain now was mixed 
with little flakes, making a foggish dark- 
ness ; and he found that he neither 
had overcoat nor umbrella. Then feel- 
ing in his pocket for change, he was 
startled. Not five dollars,” he count- 
ed. At this sorry circumstance he 
laughed, with a ray of returning sense. 
Yesterday he had seemed to control the 
financial destinies of thousands ; and 
to-night he hardly had enough to pay a 
hotel bill for the night. Even in the 
mental state that I have tried to describe, 
however crudely, the practical, so 


THE SPECULATOR. 


79 - 


long predominant, made him question 
a man, standing near, the way to a cheap 
hotel or lodging-house ; while the pur- 
pose which he clung to with a tenacious 
habit in purposes, told him to wait till 
the morrow, and then to go out to the 
scenes of the far past. 

The man he had questioned was 
shabby. He received Chester’s question 
good-naturedly. For behind his shab- 
biness lay some good observation. ‘‘ I 
know just the place,” he said. “ On 
James Street just beyond Jefferson ; 
but you don’t know the way ? ” 

“I ought,” said the old man; “I 
lived here twenty years ago.” 

“You did, you don’t say? That 
makes me believe you can’t know. 
There ’s been a pile of changes since 
your time. Now I tell you I ’m going 
down that way : I ’ll show you.” 

So Samuel Chester and the shabby 
person walked along streets that the old 
man did not recognize, to a brick build- 
ing bearing the title, 

“ The Good- Lodging Hotel.” 


80 THE SPECULATOR. 

“ I don’t know that it ’s so good, but 
it ’s cheap,” said the man ; “ most 
cheap things are good enough if one ’s 
not stuck up.” 

“ I hope I ’m not that,” said Chester, 
smiling, with a dim realization of his 
identity. 

“No, you ’re not; nor do I think 
you ’ve always been hard up. Well, 
good-night. Hope you like the place.” 

Chester saw dimly a dirty office ; an 
important, badly-dressed clerk. La- 
boring up many flights, the door shut 
on a narrow room. 

No one heard the low cry, as this 
lodger cast himself on the iron bed. 

If, among the disordered images of 
the brain, sometimes he realized his 
position, more often he perceived only 
vague realities, like a man walking in a 
fog of Newfoundland. 

VIII. 

When finally he opened his eyes on 
the uncertain light of the narrow place, 
he knew neither where he was, nor his 


THE SPECULATOR. 


81 


past, and name, and identity. And 
indeed, he would have seemed another 
being to any person who the yesterday 
night might have seen him in the splen- 
dor of his greatness. Now the sorry 
appearance was swept away, and he 
was in a squalid room of a second-rate 
lodging-place of an inland town. To 
any who know the two scenes, it may 
not seem strange that he in twenty-four 
hours had lost, not alone the deceitful 
likeness of great riches and high posi- 
tion, but his very faculties and knowl- 
edge of himself. 

Now it was midnight ; and gropingly 
he stumbled into the unlit hall and 
down the narrow stairways, where 
feeble oil lamps flickered. 

For some time, this same evening, six 
men had been in the barroom of “ The 
Good Lodging-Hotel,” and possibly 
they may deserve passing mention ; 
for one lately has gained distinction in 
the new party of Labor — now demand- 
ing political attention ; though from the 

first, politicians have met it ardently 
6 


82 


THE SPECULATOR. 


enough. Carrying many grains of 
truth in a body of error (like every 
human movement), it now asserts itself, 
apparently for itself. 

This person is more Slav in feeling 
than Anglo-Saxon, as is to be expected 
of the son of Russian mother and Polish 
father. Born on the ocean during the 
migration to the land of chances, despite 
his parentage, he tries to be aggressively 
American, and appears a shrewd, rather 
forceful fellow. While a tangled beard 
and thick black hair, and sunken eyes 
with encircling black patches, may 
make him appear dirty, he shows a 
certain devotion to appearances in his 
clothes, which are the gaudy effort of a 
cheap tailor. Forty-five, the figure lean 
to emaciation, he is impressive to his 
following because of his command of 
phrases. A close observer suspects 
sinister lines behind the thick beard. 
Always a discontented worker, much 
sincerity lies in his hatred of the more 
successful, and in his pity of the striving 
poor. But a long strike changed him, 


THE SPECULATOR. 


83 


till he traded on these feelings in others, 
and became, because of a certain adroit- 
ness, such a leader as a movement often 
has before it discovers the truer theory, 
and then more honorable expounders. 

If every movement has sorry “ hang- 
ers-on,” these occur more frequently 
and astonishingly in the movement up- 
ward from the lower strata. Thence 
came civilization. So why should we 
be fearful ? Gentle arts and manners 
may change, but cannot die. Lord 
Wolseley’s awakened Chinese horde, 
that under some pig-tailed Attila may 
overturn civilization, will reflect some- 
what, at best, the ideas of the West. 
Ideas have as many changes as matter ; 
and are as indestructible. So may we 
not lay awake o’ nights, unless we be 
nervous wrecks or trembling fools. 

The remaining five in the barroom of 
The Good Lodging-Hotel ” on that 
November night in 1889 were a tall, 
shabbily-dressed Irishman, a half-grown 
boy, a German cigarmaker, two young 
men who had wandered to the town in- 


84 


THE SPECULATOR. 


fluenced by the attractiveness of the 
larger lives beckoning to the narrowness 
of the farm. The two latter were Amer- 
ican types. Whatever their ancestry, 
two generations of American conditions 
had produced the national type. For 
certain observers say, despite cosmopol- 
itanism, we have a national result to 
show, from the mingling of the nation- 
alities of Europe. 

The Irishman in that barroom might 
have been one of those wild kerns 
whom Henry the Second found in 
bloody insurrection, as soon as the 
royal presence was turned ; the race 
that still strive, and are discontent ; that 
resort to “ boycottt ” ; that die warmly 
for a cause. The discontent of these. 
Irishman, Russian-Pole, South German, 
is of the blood ; the uneasiness of the 
rural Americans is from a perversion 
of their excellent traits by the worst of 
the town. 

These men all had been drinking ; 
their tongues rattled the more readily ; 
and the Russian-Pole naturally began to 


THE SPECULATOR. 


85 


declaim his periods. The scene would 
have been worthy a brush such as Hans 
Holbein’s : these characteristic figures ; 
the two tables, with the yellow Police 
News side to side with the glasses ; the 
white- aproned man behind the bar with 
its array of colored bottles. An artist 
in words may add the variously inflected 
voices : some pronouncing their English 
with their mother tongue still control- 
ling ; some using the colloquialisms of 
the Southern New York hills. 

A door opened. An old man came 
uncertainly into the room. 

“Where am I ? ” 

The men stared at the intruder. 

“ Why, you ’re in Binghamton. Are 
you drunk, or a loon, you old fool } ” 
asked the half-grown boy. 

For Samuel Chester was not himself ; 
he was simply a human wreck, on whom 
the stronger always may be ready to 
turn the shaft of ridicule or of pitiless- 
ness. 

“ In Binghamton, — in ? ” He 

sank into a chair, his face on his hands. 


86 


THE SPECULATOR. 


The others stared, exchanged com- 
ments, asked him to drink. But silent 
he sat, 

“ I guess I ’d better move him on,” 
muttered the bartender ; but that func- 
tionary’s attention was diverted by the 
Russian-Pole renewing his subject. 

With easy tongue the man went on 
from Labor to Communism and Anar- 
chy. The others sat rapt. 

Suddenly a voice, carefully inflected, 
like that of a man of affairs, conscious 
of his powers, interrupted : 

“ My friend, you are talking non- 
sense.” 

They all turned in surprise and some 
consternation. A moment before, an 
old broken-down man had entered the 
room, whom they had noticed only to 
revile. Was this indeed the same 
man — this worldly, self-complacent, 
successful person, who seemed an em- 
ployer to their eyes ? The inner forces 
of the intelligence, acting through the 
muscles, suddenly had changed every 
line of the body ; and the contrast was. 


THE SPECULATOR. 


87 


marvellous. For this was a man whose 
mind usually had controlled the body ; 
and now, even in the mental disorder, a 
passing mood brought the muscles to 
its expression. 

“ My friend,” said Samuel Chester, 
“ I have had directly and indirectly 
many thousands of men in my employ. 
I suppose I may be considered a fair 
representative of the class you are 
talking about.” 

The Russian-Pole had looked at him 
in some astonishment, and now he ven- 
tured scornfully : 

“ I vas sayin’ vot is trut’. Now, sir, 
you has overheard my talk. Veil may- 
be you ’re ’n employer. I don’t know ; 
but you ’ve got a damned lot of cheek.” 

“ Oh, I suppose so ; I suppose so,” 
said Chester. “ It happens, my man, 
that I worked up from the people near 
this very town ; and I know that he 
who is fit is bound to get on. Labor is 
a good word. But you don’t know what 
it means.” 

Perhaps Chester’s uneasy mind had 


88 


THE SPECULATOR. 


led him to forget his customary tact, 
for he never had been a man to provoke 
another ; rather would he have been 
likely by dissimulation to disarm anger. 
Yet to-night, by some contradiction, he 
defied the man whose talk for a moment 
had aroused him from his lethargy. 
Nor was the Russian-Pole a man likely 
to invite personal encounter. 

“ Perhaps I am taking a liberty. 
But certainly I can’t stand by, and hear 
such foolish talk. I am of the people ; 
yes, — I am — ” The voice fell ; for an 
instant he saw clearly his to-day and 
yesterday; — ^‘Yes, I worked my way 

up, and I fell ; and Do you suppose 

at the bottom of the ladder I should do 
such whining ? Then I should remain 
at the bottom. If a man has brains and 
ability he gets on, as a rule. If he has 
neither he stands still.” 

“ A man can’t get on,” said the Rus- 
sian-Pole. 

Chester scanned the speaker. 

“ I know you are wrong, because I 
happened to get on as I have told you.” 


THE SPECULATOR. 


89 


Again he stood these men’s superiors, 
till they felt his personality. Very 
quietly he took his seat, telling them 
the philosophy of effort, of not being 
discouraged by one failure, of the 
differences in men’s capacities. They 
had listened — even the Russian-Pole — 
with attention, till the speaker suddenly 
paused, — not because he saw the per- 
sonal narrowness of his statement. 

“ My God, where am I ? ” he cried, 
and with the suddenness of the first 
change of his entrance he seemed again 
a weak, broken man. 

“ He ’s mad,” they whispered. 

He turned toward them, though they 
had spoken low. 

“ Yes, I am mad ; I am mad.” i 

He saw this clearly ; and then he 
knew not his identity, nor his past ; 
only again was the wish to be moving 
toward some object. What this object • 
might be, he knew not ; yet it brought 
him suddenly through the door, into 
the misty November night. 

He shivered for a moment, and 


90 


THE SPECULATOR. 


turning the collar about his throat, 
went on along the silent street, directed 
by the object of which he knew not, 
animating the muscles. Few passed 
him at that hour — a policeman ; some 
young men with boisterous voices. 
Along the business streets and among 
dwellings, the street stretching straight 
before under the swinging electric lamps, 
casting here and there gigantic shadows ; 
and along the cold river, with factories 
and the railroad at the walker’s left ; and 
still stumbling on, the mass of the State 
Hospital standing darkly on its hill, like 
a great European place. The mist had 
changed to snow ; and Samuel Ches- 
ter was stumbling through the half 
frozen mud. The chill seemed to reach 
his heart ; and yet, directed by the pur- 
pose, he kept on along the country road, 
now by the Susquehanna, and again 
over the little foot-hills ; — the purpose 
still directing. They say madness pro- 
duces strange physical endurance in 
following the immediate purpose of its 
mania. 


THE SPECULATOR. 9t 

At last he was aware, through the 
dimness of the brain, that he could go 
no farther. But whither should he go ? 
A wagon lumbered by over the frozen 
ruts. His attention diverted for the 
instant, he saw that he was standing 
before a building, probably a barn. He 
groped toward the door. This was only 
latched, and he let himself into the 
gratifying warmth. He knew that some- 
thing moved — the cattle perhaps, or a 
horse. Again he shivered ; and, with 
the instinct of exhaustion, he cast about 
till he found a hay-loft, where he tumbled 
into the soft stuff, as he had when a 
boy ; and out of weariness he slept. 

Again he was awake. Where was he ? 
What had brought him here ? For an 
instant he knew the wish to return to 
his youth had directed his steps ; that 
he 'must be near the place where his 
early life had been. He understood the 
details of the journey. He saw the 
wretched bar-room ; and himself with 
the consciousness of the strength of 
success again controlling, speaking to 


92 


THE SPECULATOR. 


and awing the poor, incapable strag- 
glers for the rewards, — the decryers of 
the social system. Oddly Jarvis’ figure 
in the setting of the club, luxury, 
warmth, occurred to him who the 
yesterday had been so different, and 
the whole truth lay before himself : his 
life ; success ; the false move ; the 
nervous energy to correct it ; the fail- 
ure ; and the mad flight, the search for 
the past. Am I mad, or a fool ? ” 
he asked. Why, he must turn back at 
once. No, he was weary ; and he no 
longer could control his muscles. Yes, 
he was mad. 

Something soft and warm pushed 
against his hand. Never was there a 
more welcome visitor than the cat to 
Samuel Chester in the hay-loft. He 
fondled the creature softly, and its 
purring seemed to give sympathy to 
trouble. 

And then with violence he thought of 
his wife and daughter ; he could hear 
gossip ; he saw old women’s faces ; the 
heavy headlines in a newspaper. 


THE SPECULATOR. 


93 


The cat purred gently ; and the mood 
changed ; and he was a boy again ; the 
old scenes passed, faces that were no 
more, events of the long ago. Outside, 
the November wind whistled ; the cat 
drew herself into a soft puffy ball warm 
against his back. He was not cold, 
nor awake ; and even dreams were lost 
in a dull, deep sleep. 

IX. 

In the early morning the farmer, 
moodily whistling a monotonous air 
(for now life was a hard struggle, and 
the youthful illusions were passing), 
heard his dog barking from the loft. 
Then was a feeble cry. 

“ Jiminy ! a tramp ! ” said the man, 
who was an original, like the peasant of 
Normandy, or of Provence, or the heavy 
Yorkshireman. A few centuries will 
leave his individualities more marked ; 
but even now he is different from the 
New Englander, the Southerner, the 
dweller in the Virginian and Carolinian^ 
Appalachian Mountains, or the far West. 


94 


THE SPECULATOR. 


The development of the great farming 
tracts in the new States has cheapened 
his holdings ; his struggle for a liveli- 
hood has become keener, harder, and 
already the narrowing circumstances 
have circumscribed his character. 

“ A tramp, eh ! I wonder if he ’s a 
fightin’ un.” The dog barked more 
fiercely. “ Here, Ned,” he ordered ; 
when an old, toothless dog, who showed 
the collie strain, limped out of the 
shadows. A cat scurried along a beam ; 
and a man came feebly into the daylight. 

“You 're a cool un,” said the farmer. 
“ Git out o’ here ! Do ye understand 
English ? I guess I kin make ye.” 

Chester’s bones ached, with an occa- 
sional sharper rheumatic twinge ; and 
it may be counted remarkable that he 
had survived the night of exposure. In 
some vague way he was rational, and 
he understood that in wild phantasy 
he had wandered away from the scene 
of failure. He felt ill, feeble, and he 
knew he needed warmth and food. 

“ I am sick. I lost my way last night. 


THE SPECULATOR. 


95 


I found my way in here, and I believe 
the shelter of your barn has saved my 
life.” 

Don’t blarney,” began the man. “ I 
guess you ran ’way from the ’Sylum.” 

‘‘ I will pay you for the lodging,” said 
Chester, with some dignity ; and in the 
depths of a pocket he found the single 
five-dollar bill. He regarded it curi- 
ously ; this was his last money, and 
latterly he had so disregarded small 
sums. 

The fluttering green paper had an in- 
stant effect on the farmer. The posses- 
sion was passport enough ; an escaped 
lunatic would not be likely to have 
money — this was certain ; and he ad- 
dressed Chester as “ Sir.” 

“Don’t matter. You see, it 's rather 
surprisin’ to find a man in a body’s 
barn in jest sech a way.” 

“Yes, I understand you. I owe you 
an explanation. But now I am hungry. 
I want something to eat, and coffee.” 

“Wait a minit,” said the man, and he 
disappeared. 


96 


THE SPECULATOR. 


Lines of gold showed against the 
•siding of the barn. Chester threw back 
the door. Before him lay the hills he 
knew, and the valley with the winding 
river, the towers of the asylum against 
the deep blue of the western sky, the 
chimneys and roofs of the distant town. 
The hills impressed him chiefly, for 
these were constant, and though per- 
haps less wooded, their appearance, 
their rounded outline, had not changed 

greatly in the tw , no forty, no sixty 

years ; he counted backward. 

And, oh, the charming hills of the 
Susquehanna ! Where is the painter to 
catch your various moods ? the poet to 
tell your story? In scenery such as 
this were Fenimore Cooper’s fancies ! 
Your recesses have sheltered the Amer- 
ican strength, the cradles of men of 
sterling worth. Of a clear June dawn 
you are quiet, still, soothing ; on a 
stormy summer day you seem to be 
clothed in armor for the fray ; coated 
with the winter’s snow and ice, you are 
stern, forbidding ; or a wandering sunny 


THE SPECULATOR. 


97 


ray may leave you smiling. You are 
nature, the world ; your moods are as 
various as those you nourish. 

“ The woman says she ’s some break- 
fast left over,” said the farmer. 

In the little room was a woman who 
indeed seemed like the rude, unpainted 
boards of the house ; she was rough, 
suspicious, and yet not unkind. She 
saw that the old man was ill ; she re- 
membered that Silas said he had money. 
She asked him if he would not rest ; if 
Silas might not go for the doctor. 

“You are kind, — very kind. I will 
try to repay you,” said Chester. His 
head drooped ; and there was a burn- 
ing at the heart. “ I could rest. But 
you need not send for the doctor.” 

She showed him now with some re- 
spect to the cold spare-room ; and when 
she was again in the kitchen, she said : 
“ I allow, Silas, he ’s most ’s old *s 
father when he died. He was out in all 
that storm. I ’m goin' to heat a hot- 
water bottle.” 

“ He can pay,” said Silas. 

7 


98 


THE SPECULATOR. 


“ The Lord pities ’em that pities the 
sufferin’,’’ said the woman. 

Chester was dimly aware of the 
heavy coverlids thrown over the aching 
limbs ; and *he slept uneasily, and 
dreaming. He was young ; and he was 
talking to a pretty girl — long since she 
was dead — whom he admired ; and 
this face became his wife’s, and — all 
vanished ; he was in prison, tied and 
bound, he could not stir ; or again it 
was the noise of the Exchange ; men 
he knew well ; his recent life ; his 
mastery of events ; and he was awake. 

He raised himself painfully. The 
November sunlight lay in yellow patches 
over the ragged carpet. 

** My God, what have I done ! What 
have I done ! ” he cried. 

He had fled disaster ; which always 
before he had faced manfully. He had 
left his wife and daughter to meet the 
effect of the crushing defeat, and the 
comments caused by his disappearance 
at the critical time. He was stiff and 
ill. Painfully he pulled on his clothes. 


THE SPECULATOR. 


99 


In the kitchen the woman was sing- 
ing an air of departed girlhood. 

“ You 're up, sir. How d' ye do ? ” 

“I am much in your debt,” said the 
old man. “Yes, much in your debt ; 
and you shall be repaid. I want your 
husband to drive me to Binghamton. I 
want to get a New York train.” 

“ Oh, you do ? ” said the woman, 
“ I T1 talk to Silas.” 

Chester walked to the window. Still 
the November sun in the blue sky lay 
over the valley. 

Silas remembered the five dollars. 
Yes, he would do it ; he had got to go 
to town anyhow. 

Chester laughed mockingly at him- 
self. Yesterday he had thought to find 
youth. Ah, time recalls no moment, — 
the past was gathered in ; and only 
was the future. For an instant he felt 
the intoxication of passing hope. 

“Thank ye, sir,” said the woman, 
taking his bill. “We ’re only too glad 
to 've given you shelter.” She whis- 
pered to Silas : “ Do ye s’pose its coun- 


too THE SPECULATOR. 

terfeit.” “ Pshaw, don’t ye mind. Can't 
you see he 's all right,” said Silas. 
“ It 's too much, sir,” he added, “ too 
much.” 

“ It 's not enough,” said the old man, 
with a return of his manner. It in- 
cludes the drive in, you know,” he 
added. “Yes, sir, yes,” said Silas. 

The hills were the same in outline 
along the familiar valley. But people 
had changed. Silas laughed at his 
questions. “ Dead and gone before my 
time,” he explained to most of the 
questions. To others he answered with 
a full description. And Chester lis- 
tened, shivering in the keen air, and ill. 
“ A fool, or mad ! ” he murmured. 

“ What 's that, sir ? ” asked Silas. 

“ You 're a young man,” said Ches- 
ter. “ But you are old enough to do 
things sometimes that afterward seem 
mad or foolish.” 

Silas mused. “ You bet I do,” he 
assented. “ Fool 's the name o’ most o’ 
us when we ’re to hum.” 

“ What ’s your name, sir ? ” he asked 


THE SPECULATOR. 101 

suddenly. But Chester only smiled : 

I think you have named it,” he said. 
“ I am no exception to your rule. I 
may be known as Jones, or Smith.” 

The name Chester probably was well 
known in the locality ; his cousins were 
numerous enough ; they had wondered, 
and exclaimed perhaps over his suc- 
cess ; and nothing would have induced 
him to acknowledge there that he was 
Samuel Chester. On this day his fail- 
ure probably was known over the world. 
Failure ! Failure ! He repeated the 
word, till the old stubbornness was 
aroused. His mind found its old 
readiness in expedients. Yet no one 
served. He had searched his invention 
for weeks. But now he would ; yes 
he would find the means to retrieve 
yesterday. 

So, the old man lost in thought, the 
Susquehanna hill farmer muttering over 
his little lore and gossip, they drove into 
the small city. 

This is a pretty place, dropped in the 
valley among these hills of the Appa- 


102 


THE SPECULATOR. 


lachians. Two rivers meet, and the 
Indians said Otseningo, Meeting of 
Waters.” But the settlers ninety years 
since said “ Chenang Pint then Bing- 
ham’s Town ; a Bingham of Philadel- 
phia held a grant there ; and the villa- 
gers used the patron’s name. A worthy 
name it is ; and early in the century 
lent grace and good blood to the family 
that builded in England the banking 
house of Baring. The village passed 
to town ; a pleasant, respectable place 
where was much good living, the Ameri- 
can village aristocracy, some good think- 
ing, a few who bore the town’s name 
worthily before the nation. From town 
it turned city with factories ; now 
reaching beyond the limits of one 
industry to many. In 1890 it is a 
representative American place, where is 
the best of the nation. Not in the 
greater cities do you see the truer 
America, but in the smaller, reaching 
back to the opening of the century and 
before. The dwellings are pretty, on 
well-kept streets. Of a summer day the 


THE SPECULATOR. m 

place seems to have a golden leisure 
behind its activity. Around it are the 
hills. If you scale the promiseful 
summit others are beyond, and beyond, 
till the highlands slope to plains, the 
sea, or the lakes. Below these near 
slopes is the place Chester hardly knew 
in its changes. No longer was it home ,' 
and ordinarily he would have chaffed 
at its provincial restrictions. Now one 
feverish object, as eager and all-posses- 
sing as the one of the yesterday, urging 
him on : “To get back! To face the 
failure ! ” The strong, practical side of 
his nature again was in the ascendant ; 
and while thinking over his greatest 
problem he remembered that he had 
no money. He might telegraph. He 
might reveal his identity. Enough 
people still believed in him perhaps 
to loan him a few dollars. But not for 
the world in this community would 
he declare the name which now prob- 
ably was in heavy head-lines in every 
newspaper of the country. He asked 
Silas to drive him to a pawnbroker’s. 


104 


THE SPECULATOR. 


The man stared, “ Did n’t know that he 
knew what was intended ” ; allowed 
that “mebbe you ’re broke,” and ended 
by saying he knew “ the place.” 

This was half pawnbroker’s and half 
grocer’s. Above the counter on the loan 
side hung two parrots which uttered 
exclamations from their limited vocabu- 
lary. A monkey grinned from a cage 
on a high shelf. Some canaries chirped 
from the shadowy rear of the place. 
The discolored glass cases showed 
many gold and silver trinkets and odd 
things. The man behind the counter 
looked Chester as well as the watch 
over carefully. 

“ It ’s a fine piece,” he acknbwledged. 

“ What can I get on it ?” 

^‘Well, fifty dollars, I think.” 

“ You are moderate enough, I am 
sure,” said the old man, quizzically. 
“ But I probably shall redeem it in two 
or three days.” 

The pawnbroker smiled. 

“ You probably are thinking ‘ They all 
say that,’ ” said Chester. 


THE SPECULATOR. 


105 


“ Yes, I was,” acknowledged the man, 
smiling in his turn. “ You ’re a keen 
one,” he nodded. 

The parrots cried and exclaimed in 
their jargon. Outside Silas asked r 
“Did you do it?” 

“ It ’s all right,” said Chester, with a 
briskness Silas had not noticed before. 
Silas the meanwhile had been ponder- 
ing the position of his guest. He con- 
cluded that this probably was a man of 
influence somewhere ; and he decided 
it was fitting to leave him at the best 
hotel of the town. “ I wish I knew 
your name, sir ? ” he ventured, troubled 
with the curiosity engendered by narrow 
circumstances, the little routine of every- 
day life. 

Chester had stepped laboriously to 
the walk, and now he put a bill in the 
man’s hand. “ I won’t tell you my 
name. You have been good, very good. 

No, the bill is not too large, and you 

certainly will hear from me some day.” 

Silas thought him a very grand per- 
son indeed ; grandeur was likely to be 


106 


THE SPECULATOR. 


measured by the amount of money a 
man seemed to have. If Silas had seen 
him obtaining this money through the 
despised pawnbroker, he yet suspected 
that this was only an expedient. “ The 
best sumtimes er hard up.” He 
wanted to say more, but the old man 
had dropped him out of thought. Pon- 
dering the mystery, he saw him disap- 
pear through the doorway, and then, 
having no alternative, he drove away, 
rather fearful of the dissatisfaction of 
“ the woman ” at his lack of more defi- 
nite knowledge of their strange guest 
Still he wonders ; and probably will 
tell the story to the end. For Silas is 
of the class that changes least in this 
changing America ; and every year 
seems to accentuate the peculiarities of 
these country folk. 

Inside the door, Chester paused irres- 
olutely. He felt weary and faint ; and, 
while now the purpose to return was 
definite, he knew as well that he first 
must get control of the overstrained 
body. Across the street was a little 


THE SPECULATOR. 


107 


Gothic church. Before the hotel people 
passed, came, and went ; Chester walked 
feebly to the desk, where the clerk re- 
garded him with suspicion. 

“ I have no luggage ; and I think I 
am ill. I want you to send me the best 
doctor you can find.” 

If the tendency to look down on the 
feeble had showed itself, Chester’s voice 
obtained some respect. The clerk saw 
proper to accent the “ sir,” as he called 
the bell-boy. Chester registered Ran- 
dolph Adams.” 

In the room, he asked the boy about 
the time of the trains to New York, and 
then in a stupor he threw himself on 
the bed. He heard the returned bell- 
boy say that the next train was at 
eleven, and then he lay still in a sort of 
half consciousness, from which he 
aroused himself enough to go to the 
window. The stone church lay before 
in the early evening light ; behind, 
above the river, the roofs and towers of 
dwellings, and the perspective of hills. 
Chester hardly saw these details ; rather 


108 


THE SPECULATOR. 


was he thinking of what might have 
happened. Once he started to ring 
for a paper ; and he hesitated ; he 
knew the account without reading. 
And he laughed bitterly, I will show 
them, I will show them, if I have 
the strength.” He hated his age. He 
longed for the lost youth, when every 
thing seemed easy. Weakness had led 
to his foolish flight ; He sobbed in his 
trouble, and then he cried, “ I will 
show them.” 

“ Come in ! ” he said to the knock. 
The doctor entered, looking curiously 
at his patient. A man of breeding and 
experience himself, he saw that this sick 
old man, too, had been skilful in his 
world, whatever that might be. 

I am ill. I cannot control myself. I 
want some stimulant to make me equal 
to an ordeal.” 

^‘My dear sir,” said the doctor, “I 
am afraid you need rest — and diversion. 
You have given some subject too much 
thought lately, I fancy.” 

“ I will take all that later,” replied 


THE SPECULATOR. 


109 


Chester. “ What I want now is strength. 
I have something important to accom- 
plish. When I have done my work I 
will rest.” 

The other held the fevered hand. 

‘‘You must do as I tell you. You 
must go to bed.” 

“ I understand,” said Chester, “I will 
rest to-night, and go to New York to- 
morrow.” 

“ I doubt if you should go then.” 

“ I must. What I want of you is to 
give me some strong stimulant. No 
matter if it does leave me weak. I 
want to be strong to-morrow.” 

“ What you need more than any thing 
is sleep.” He wjote out something, and 
rang. “ Take it to the druggist,” he 
ordered. “ Now, sir, I have given you 
something to make you sleep. First of 
all, you must sleep.” 

“ I must sleep,” said the old man, 
wearily. 

“ And to-morrow afternoon, when 
you reach New York, see your doctor. 
Do not wait. Tell him that I gave you 


110 


THE SPECULATOR. 


a narcotic, and this for a stimulant 
afterward.” He pointed to some char- 
acters on a piece of paper. “ Your 
doctor will understand.” 

It is the brain more than any thing 
else,” said the old man. 

The doctor looked at him intently. 

“Yes, it is weariness, perplexity; it 
is the brain.” 

He took his hat. 

“ I would like to hear from you,” he 
said. 

Chester smiled ; and suddenly re- 
gained his manner till, before this per- 
son who had known the secret of 
bringing others to his bidding, the other 
felt his own inexperienced youth, almost 
as if the stranger’s personality were a 
physical fact. A feeble reflection of 
Chester’s customary intelligence was in 
the smile. Always he had been a soli- 
tary ; his wife never knew his plans, nor 
had he often known the need of 
sympathy. Yet this afternoon, out of 
his misery, he longed for the kind tone 
of the younger man. With an effort he 


THE SPECULATOR. 


Ill 


» controlled himself ; and the spark of his 
former self seemed to flicker, leaving 
him the old person whom the doctor 
pitied. 

“You may hear from me. You 

may ” He turned sharply around to 

the window, and again to his visitor, 
who thought he saw a struggle for self- 
mastery. 

“You know how it is in this world. 
We run against others, and then we are 
borne away, with only a memory. I am 
sure, sir, you have given me a pleasant 
memory. I believe you are a keen ob- 
server, and know your profession.” 

“ Oh, I am mostly a student. I have 
studied in Vienna and New York, and 
now I have come to the actual experi- 
ence. I hope you may be better to- 
morrow.” 

“ Oh, I shall,” said Chester. “ I will.” 

The inflection of the “ I will ” fol- 
lowed the young doctor that night. 
“He has a will indeed,” he muttered. 
“ Only will can keep him out of the 
grave.” 


112 


THE SPECULATOR. 


Chester doubted his own force when 
the other had gone. Now he was not 
sure the body would do his will. 
And again he was despairful of his 
ability to face his ruin. But he must 
keep up ; he must not yield to his weak- 
ness ! And the struggle between mind 
and body went on, while the darkness 
grew over the outline of the Gothic 
church, the dwellings on the distant 
bluff above the river, and the vaguely 
outlined horizon of irregular hills. 

The boy brought the prescription. 

Chester regarded the phial. Did it 
hold the precious rest which should 
again give him his self-control ? his 
mastery of circumstance ? Was it a 
ladder out of the depths? 

Wearily he pulled off his clothes. 
Again he looked at the liquid. 

From this abstraction he was aroused 
by a knock. A waiter entered with beef- 
broth ordered by the doctor, he said. 

Chester found that his needs had 
been seen, as his absorbed state pre- 
vented him from seeing them himself. 


THE SPECULATOR. 


113 


Drowsily, as the man with the tray 
closed the door, his head sank on the 
pillow. 

The events of these last days passed 
vividly before ; and Belinda’s face ; 
and Belinda’s mother. No longer was 
perplexity an enveloping gloom. Rest- 
fully, thoughts and fancies were 
merged. 


X. 

The physical conditions around us, 
and of our own bodies, have mental 
analogies so striking, that the material- 
ist is prone to find in them his proofs. 
In serious ailment, tormenting physical 
and mental pains, often is there quiet 
after confusion, the lull after the storm. 
For many days probably, Chester had 
been in a state bordering madness ; for 
the two days past he doubtless had been 
actually mad. But on the morning of 
the third, he awoke with the brain 
clearer than during weeks. His mind 
had the keenness sometimes to be ob- 
served in serious illness ; and, as in 
8 


114 


THE SPECULATOR. 


such cases, he made no doubt of gain- 
ing shortly complete command of the 
^body. His failure on this fair morning 
\Vo longer seemed a matter for despair ; 
I all of the ready wit again lay at his ser- 
■ vice ; he saw possibilities, means ; and 
he only was impatient of the journey 
between himself and renewed activity. 

Out of the window the morning lay 
over the valley, and the hills, — as fair 
and soft, after the period of storm, as if 
this were June, with its green turned to 
browns and grays. 

Such was Chester’s mood, when 
the boy wakened him at dawn. Only 
when dressing did physical weakness 
recall the past days, now indistinct, 
like troublous dreaming. The train left 
at 7.30 ; and he hurried over the 
coffee and rolls in the dining-room, 
where were a few people, mostly drum- 
mers, he thought, noting them briefly. 
"^The yesterday his surroundings had 
seemed to make no particular impres- 
sion ; but in the morning was the old 
habit of acute observation of every 


THE SPECULATOR. 


115 


thing and person. This was that alert 
Chester, of whom his countrymen had 
talked for nearly twenty years. The 
only shadow on this seemingly well 
controlled brain was the physical weak- 
ness, which he made no doubt of con- 
quering. The “ ’bus ” drew through 
streets of the pleasant town, thronged 
now with factory people ; the dead 
leaves careened along the gutters ; the 
maple branches, their eastern sides 
bronzed by the pale November sun, 
were in silver outline on the opposite 
side against the bluest of skies. An 
electric car came swiftly about a corner. 
A girl with cap and apron, a broom in 
her hands, gazed after the hotel “ ’bus,” 
as if she were longing to be seated there, 
to be whisked away to some dime-novel 
elysium. Turning the corner of Lewis 
Street, the way seemed to lead over the 
smooth asphalt, almost to the great 
front door of the State Hospital on its 
rounded hill. The blue depths were 
quite of the Italian profundity ; dis- 
tances were near ; a heavy coat, a bur- 


116 


THE SPECULATOR. 


den. The morrow might be frosty, as 
the yesterday, a day of rain and snow ; 
but the passing mood seemed sincerity ; 
nor did it declare the possibility of 
wilder impulse, reaching, beyond sem- 
blance of calm, to furious wintry storm. 

A few moments about the busy and 
sorry old wooden station, and then 
Chester was leaning rather wearily in 
the chair of the Pullman coach. The 
panorama of the retreating town, the 
river, the hills, the dull-brown and yel- 
lowish meadows, the gray of the bare 
forests, scattered with the dark green 
of pine and hemlock, of the retreating 
Susquehanna valley, under the deeply 
blue November sky. Chester was think- 
ing intently, and time and the passing 
scenery slipped away without notice. 
The train turned from the valley 
through ravines, and the little open- 
ings between high hills, and the loco- 
motive with much puffing drew up to 
small stations, where men watched the 
train with the curious, rural scrutiny. 
In the coach was the eager talk of two 


THE SPECULATOR. 


117 


» provincials (the term has passed to 
America) of their excursion to the 
metropolis. Chester knew their like 
well ; he had seen them as bankers, 
tradesmen, lawyers, quite congruous 
with their environment in the smaller 
cities. These were the little great men 
whom in the smoking-room he heard 
exchanging remarks about themselves, 
their world, and the impressing crowds 
of the larger cities. Neither young nor 
old, they were at the halcyon point 
where esteem of themselves as men of 
the world rendered them oblivious of 
others. So they talked of many mat- 
ters, from commercial transactions to 
the lightness of girls over whom gravity 
grew relaxed ; of how somebody in a 
local club played reckless poker ; of 
gentlemen in commercial houses in 
New York, of whom they spoke with 
fitting respect ; of the financial success 
of somebody who was “ a smart fellow, 
I should say ; of theatres, plays and 
players, hostelries ; — of matters possibly 
not intrinsically significant. 


118 


THE SPECULATOR. 


These were the sounds of varying 
human life that fell unnoticed on the 
dreamer while the train drew out from 
the hills along the slope above Scran- 
ton. High shafts surrounded by hil- 
locks of coal-dust passed the window. 
Chester went impatiently back to his 
chair. He was impatient over the jour- 
ney, now he knew what to do. A new 
idea opened the way clear, and why 
had he not seen this masterly movement 
before Chester & Co. had closed their 
doors ? But within a week the office 
in Nassau Street again should be open- 
ed. Again the world should do his 
bidding. Every man had his lapses, 
and he had erred sadly. But now the 
idea, which should produce a great 
combination, which should make him 
necessary to the powerful financial 
forces, was evident. Belinda again 
should have money and financial posi- 
tion to support her beauty and clever- 
ness. The papers within a week should 
sing the old song of admiration of 
Samuel Chester’s ingenuity. 


THE SPECULATOR. 


119 


The train rattled on past the lone 
stations of the desolate Pocono Moun- 
tains, along the high hill-sides, till twen- 
ty miles over wooded hill and valley 
was the opening of the Delaware Water 
Gap. And over all lay the November 
sunshine. 

As the phases of this masterly move- 
ment presented themselves Chester be- 
came more abstracted. He felt already 
the pleasure of triumph, which should 
be the sweeter for this fall. He under- 
stood how he should put his idea be- 
fore his old rivals, how these would 
see its simple force, and how the 
Wyoming-Pacific system should gain 
its connections with the Pacific slope. 
The problem over which he had pon- 
dered for months lay solved and in that 
sudden clarity of the mind he knew 
how he should bring every personality 
into his plan, how the plan should 
reach a most successful issue, and how 
by one quick operation he should gain 
a position of impregnable strength. 

The six hours passed soon in this 


120 THE SPECULATOR. 

Study of the bearings of the plan. The 
train hurried along the Delaware, and 
on among the Jersey farms and towns, 
by Paterson, over the salt marshes, and 
through the tunnel to Hoboken. He 
had heard the man shout : “ Baggage 
express to all parts of the city and 
Brooklyn.” The porter queried, “ Shall 
I brush you off, suh ? ” “ No ! no ! ” 

said Samuel Chester, impatiently. 

Walking to the ferry, he discovered 
again how weak he was, which made 
him irritably impatient. He would 
take the Barclay Street boat. He re- 
membered that he had worn the same 
linen for three days, and he was 
unshaven. But what did this matter ? 
he must see many people that after- 
noon. He had much to do ; ah, yes, 
a great deal. He felt for his watch, 
and remembering, saw that the clock in 
the ferry-house indicated three. 

He was standing on the forward 
deck, the salt wind with a sudden 
chill fanning his flushed face. The 
boat was crowded for some reason, and 


THE SPECULATOR. 121 

this contact with the throng he knew 
so well exhilarated him. 

How near he had come to yielding ! 
What a narrow escape he had had ! 
But he could retrieve it all ; he kneAv 
the way. 

The thought of the last days, and 
how he had been brought low among 
the crowd, left him with a thrill 
of sympathy for the truck-drivers and 
the rough men who were crowded 
about. A child began to cry. The 
woman with a pretty blonde face 
soothed it in the dialect of South Ger- 
many. Chester smiled at her in his 
sudden sympathy with his kind. A 
transatlantic steamship puffed in mid- 
stream, a black smoky mass rising 
from red funnels. Sehen Sie ! Ach, 
meine Kind, da is der Deutcher’s 
Vaterland,” cried the woman, lifting 
the child toward the flying German 
colors. 

Chester forgot her ; and no longer 
saw the river. He must meet Winton 
that afternoon. What a fine plan it 


122 


THE SPECULATOR. 


was. How easily would he master the 
world again. 

He was in Barclay Street, hurrying 
toward Broadway, his purpose plain, 
and all absorbing ; and he crossed to 
the City Hall Park. The street was 
filled with the crowd surging up-town. 
The shrill whistle of the car-drivers 
came, — familiar music. He no longer 
cared about meeting acquaintances. 
They would see in a few days. 

And while he questioned and rea- 
soned, still seeing the situation dis- 
tinctly, he felt a sudden dizziness. He 
questioned where he was, raising a 
hand to his brow ; and an oppression, 
a weight there seemed to be removed, 
.as if something had snapped on the 
brain. 


XI. 

The crowd gathered. For a man had 
fallen, and lay still. “ Drunk,” they 
said. “ What 's the matter ? ” demanded 
.a policeman. 

A gray-bearded person, leaning over 


THE SPECULATOR. 123 

the fallen man, looked up. “An am- 
bulance.” 

“The man is dead.” He touched 
his head. 

“ Apoplexy.” 

“ Move back ! ” said the policeman. 

“ Dead, is he ? ” murmured the crowd, 
awed. “ Poor devil ! ” “ He ’s ended 

the struggle.” “ Who is he ?” “ Don’t 
know.” 

“ What ’s the row ? ” said Stuyvesant 
Perry, edging through the crowd. “ A 
man fallen dead.” But Perry had seen 
the unshaven face, the fixed, eager ex- 
pression. “ Good God, don’t you know 
him ? Sam Chester ! ” 

“ Chester, — Sam Chester, — the great 
operator.” 

The words shifted, through the crowd, 
along the street. 

“ What an end ! What ” Perry 

snapped his watch ; and with the bear- 
ings of the episode before him he broke 
from the crowd, rushing along the as- 
phalt paths, toward a tall building 
opposite. 


124 


THE SPECULATOR. 


The last edition was out. 

I have a find,” he cried, hurrying 
across the editorial room of the evening 
edition of his paper ; he added ; “ You 
will have to get out an extra.” 

The sentences fell from the practised 
tongue. Quick,” he said again to the 
stenographer. 

The city editor was at his elbow ;~ 
“ Hurry it,” he said. The sweat stood 
in beads on Perry’s forehead. The 
tired fingers of the girl pushed the^ 
ticking keys. 

The word had reached through the 
room among the belated members of 
the staff. “ A good story,” whispered 
one. Too bad it was later than the 
Wall Street Edition.” 

Perry leaned back with a sigh. “ Give 
me a cigar, somebody.” ' 

His words passed to the type-setters 
twenty minutes after Samuel Chester 
had fallen. 

And, an hour later, it was shouted' 
from the Battery to the Park. 

“ Extra ! Extra ! Death of the Great 


THE SPECULATOR. 125 

Speculator ! Startling Contrasts ! Sam 
Chester Dead ! ” 

Extra ! Extra ! ” 

All about, like a chorus, was the 
ceaseless roar of the Town, — the sounds 
of the lives of the Many, neither les- 
sened nor affected at all by the end 
of the Individual. 







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